The Beginning
by Trilliah
Summary: Chapter 20: Frodo and Sam go home. *COMPLETE*
1. The Bucklander

Title: The Beginning

Author: Trilliah

Genre: General

Rating: G

Characters: Sam Frodo Bilbo Hamfast and others

Feedback:  Please???  Pretty please???  You'll be my hero!!

Disclaimer: They're not mine!  Honest!  I'm not making any money from them, either!  Please don't sue!!

A/n: Okay, this is the beginning to what I'm assuming will be a rather longish story of Sam and Frodo's childhood.  I'm hoping to be pretty consistent with my updates, but as I have no idea at this point exactly how long this story will be, I can't say when it might be completed.  Anyway, read and review if you feel so compelled, and any thoughts, comments or ideas would be greatly appreciated!  

[Notes on ages: In the beginning of this story, Sam is 6, Frodo is 21.  These are the notes taken from the appendices, though there are plenty of contradictions in the text.  However, I have used these for simplicity's sake.  :)

*          *          *

Sunlight sparkled in the crisp spring air, mingling with the early-morning dew and making it seem as though the grass were encrusted with tiny, sparkling gems.  Apart from the sweet chirping of the birds, no sound could be heard--save the slight crunch of gravel under the feet of two hobbits as they made their way towards the large hole at the end of Bagshot Row.  One was middle-aged, somber and sturdy looking, with wizened features and knuckles gnarled with years of work in various gardens.  The other scampering along at his side was much smaller and still very young, not even in his teens, but already bearing a striking resemblance to his father both in appearance and in nature.  The appreciation and love for all things alive and growing radiated from them both, mingling with the early morning sunshine.

The younger hobbit took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of spring filling his nostrils as the sun began to peek over the tops of the trees.  The heady scent of pollen made him sneeze suddenly, drawing a small amused smile from his father.  The lad didn't seem to mind; he rubbed his offended nose on his sleeve and grinned. Nothing could diminish his bright mood today, which seemed to almost rival the sun in its radiance.

"You really think I'm all ready to start workin' in Mr. Bilbo's garden, Da?" the lad asked for the third time that morning, bouncing excitedly.  His father smiled at the boy's eagerness and ruffled his hair. 

"Aye, that I do, Sam-lad, if you follow my directions carefully and be sure to mind your manners," he said gruffly, though his face remained gentle.  "Though that won't matter for a bit, as Master Bilbo's off in Buckland collecting that lad he's to be adopting."  His tone was carefully steady during the latter, and if he felt anything derisive towards Buckland or the particularly wild brand of Hobbits it had a reputation for turning out, he hid it well.  

Sam nodded emphatically, eyes wide.  "Yes sir!" he squeaked excitedly, still bouncing.  A moment of thoughtful silence, then, "Da?  Do you think the Bucklander might want to be friends with me?"

An indulgent smile.  "Well, now, lad, he's a good bit older than you, I've heard," he said, then chided gently, "and he *is* to be your master too, along with Mr. Bilbo, so you'd best be sure you don't be getting too common with him."

Sam's face fell briefly, but it didn't last; he was soon bouncing along excitedly once again.

His father, Hamfast Gamgee, laughed.  "Now, don't you go a-wasting all your energy this early, lad!" he said.  "The work'll do that quick enough, for it's hard, and make no mistake!  But," his eyes grew dreamy for a moment, "there ain't nothin' in the world finer than Bag End's gardens when they come to full bloom."

Sam's grin, if possible, got even wider.  He'd been up to old Mr. Bilbo's gardens a few times before, though never in Spring, when everything was really blooming.  Not that they weren't beautiful in the summer, as well, but springtime was when everything was colorful and alive and…*fresh*-feeling.  

As they rounded the bend and Bag End came in to full view, Hamfast paused, frowning.  

Sam clutched his hand and gazed wide-eyed up at him.  "What is it, Da?"

Hamfast shook himself slightly.  "It looks like Mr. Bilbo's returned a bit sooner than we thought he would," he said, noticing the windows of Bag End that stood open, their curtains fluttering in the early-morning breeze.  "They must've gotten in late yester-evening, I suppose."  

Sam's eyes widened, and his grip on his father's hand tightened.  "Do you think we'll see him, Da?  The Buckland lad, I mean?"

"Don't pinch, lad.  And yes, perhaps we shall, at that."  He gazed sternly down at his son.  "You remember to mind your manners," he warned again.

Sam nodded.  "Yes sir," he said, suddenly looking shy and fearful as he gazed towards the hole.

Hamfast laughed again.  "Now, then, there's no need to go all timid!" he said, smiling.  "If this lad is half of what Mr. Bilbo is, I'm sure he won't bite, Bucklander or no!"

Sam nodded and smiled hesitantly, his gaze still fixed on the empty windows and the dark spaces behind them where a strange new hobbit was now living.

They entered the gates, Hamfast closing it quietly behind him so as not to wake his Master and his new charge, should they still be asleep.  Then, taking his son's hand again, he led him around to the tool-shed. 

"Now, lad," he said, picking up a small spade and hoe.  "I'm going to have you start in Mr. Bilbo's vegetable patch, just over on the side of the hole there.  You do just as I showed you at home, remember?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said, taking the tools and trying to hide his disappointment.  Vegetables he saw every day; what he *really* wanted to do was work in Mr. Bilbo's flower gardens, and see the strange and beautiful plants his Gaffer was always talking about.  Some of them were downright rare, he heard him say to his mother one day.  Sam didn't know exactly what 'rare' meant, but from the way Hamfast had said it, wonder and amazement clear in his voice, he knew it must mean the flowers were very special indeed.  

Hamfast saw the lad's hesitation.  "Don't you fret, now," he said sternly.  "We've got to get you started somewhere, and best where you're comfortable, eh?"  He ruffled his son's hair fondly and led him to the small patch of taters he'd be working.  "Now, these here aren't quite ready to be pulled yet, see?  Take care that you break up the soil all around them, so as they can get all the nutrients they need from it.  Also make certain you pull any weeds you see.  Can't have the weeds takin' up the tater's soil, can we?"  

He smiled as his son began to work very carefully with the spade, breaking the soil gently and biting his lip in concentration.  "There's a good lad," he said, and stood.  "I'm going around front, and see to Mr. Bilbo's hedges.  When you've finished here, you come and find me again, and I'll show you where else you can work.  And for heaven's sake, try not and wake Mr. Bilbo and his nephew!  They've had a long journey, and I'm sure they're tired out."

Sam nodded dutifully.  Hamfast nodded once and turned away, quickly disappearing around the side of the hole.  Soon after Sam could hear the sound of his clippers.  Humming a bit to himself, he focused on the work in front of him and tired to squelch his ever-growing curiosity about the Bucklander.

The sun rose quickly, and with it the morning dew evaporated.  Sam felt his brow grow damp with perspiration and his shirt beginning to stick to his back as the rays beat down upon him with growing intensity.  Still he labored on, carefully pulling the weeds and treating the taters as though they were every bit as valuable as Mr. Bilbo's 'rare' flowers.  When the sun was nigh on nine o'clock in the morning, he stood, stretching, and surveyed his work.  Though his eye was far from critical, it seemed to him as though the job was completed satisfactorily, so he turned to find his gaffer.

He'd not gone two steps, however, when a sudden sound from the window he'd been working under made him freeze in his tracks.  He turned towards the open windowpane, listening intently—there!  A soft sound, like someone moaning in his sleep.  Sam was reminded of the noise his sister Marigold would make when she was having a bad dream, usually during the worst part right before she woke up.  Tilting his head and feeling a strange mixture of curiosity, concern, and apprehension, Sam crept forward, moving quietly and cautiously until he stood just below the sill.  Rising up on the balls of his feet, he managed to pull himself up just far enough to see into the room half-lit by the shaft of sunlight streaming through the window.  He peered into the shadowed portion of the room, blinking and waiting for his eyes to adjust, then gasped.

It was a bedroom, he could see that plainly enough: oak chest standing against the far wall, bureau standing next to a large feather-bed…and sprawled on the bed, a strange-looking figure Sam had never before seen the likes of.  

He *looked* like a hobbit…leastways he had the same largish, fur-covered feet, the same gracefully curved and pointed ears, the same curly hair…but this was like no hobbit Sam had ever seen.  Instead of the typical hobbit belly, this hobbit was slender, almost…sleek-looking.  Thoughts of Bilbo's elves ran disjointedly through Sam's astounded mind as he continued to study the sleeping figure.  Pale skin, not the usual sun-tanned hobbit brown…long, slender hands and fingers that looked as though they'd never so much as touched a spade…and then the hobbit moaned and turned his head, and Sam could see clearly the high cheekbones and long lashes that brushed over them delicately, the feathery dark brows knit in concern, lips slightly pursed as another frightened moan escaped them.  

Sam knew it was impolite to stare, especially at someone who didn't even know they was being stared at, but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze from the strange sight before him.

Then, without warning, the hobbit's eyelids fluttered and opened, and Sam found himself staring straight into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen in his life.  He gasped, startled, and lost his balance, falling backwards and landing with a thud on his backside.  He could hear movements from within the room, and without quite knowing why, he panicked, grabbing his spade and practically sprinting around the house.  

Hamfast looked up, startled, as his son appeared.  "Why, lad, what is it?" he cried.  "You look as though you've seen a ghost!"

Sam gazed back over his shoulder thoughtfully, and shook his head.  "No," he said, "Not a ghost…"  *…though he almost looked like one…*

Hamfast followed his son's gaze, but saw nothing odd and was unable to discern his son's strange trance.  Finally he smiled and ruffled his son's hair, bringing them both out of their reverie.  "Aye, lad, I think you've been working in the sun too long," he said.  "Why don't you come on and help me finish up with the hedge?  It's shady over on the other side, and I can show you how to mark it with twine so as to get the shape right…"

Sam followed his father obediently, but he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder occasionally, gazing back towards the smial and thinking of what he'd seen.  Hamfast noticed his son's absentmindedness and frowned slightly. 

"Come, now lad, I know you've not heard a word of what I've been sayin' to you, so you'd best be explaining as to why your old dad ain't worth listenin' to anymore," he said sternly.  

Sam turned abashedly back from his gaze towards the quiet windows of Bag End.  "Sorry, Da," he said meekly.  "It's just…I think I saw 'im!  The Bucklander!"

Hamfast's frown deepened, and he turned his gaze back towards the smial.  "Oh?"

Sam nodded, eyes wide.  He knew he'd be punished for spying on the new master, but he knew it was better that than let his father think he was simply ignoring him.  "Yes sir!  I was just finishin' the taters and I heard him from the window!"  He frowned suddenly.  "I think he was having a bad dream," he said.

To Sam's surprise, instead of growing angry, Hamfast merely nodded.  "Aye," he said, sounding a trifle sad, "I heard he lost his parents when he was a lad.  Drowned, they did.  Terrible."  

Sam stared at his father.  "Drowned?" he whispered.

Hamfast nodded.  "If all I've heard 'tis truth," he replied.  He stood for a moment, lost in thought, then said, "The water's no place for a sensible hobbit to be, I've always said.  We're not meant to swim about like the fish, and that's the truth!  Sink like stones, we do, if we're foolish enough to get to near."  His eyes flashed decisively as he spoke, but after a moment his expression grew distant again.  "Aye, but those Bucklanders always were on the wild side.  Good thing for the poor lad he's come to live among those of us with sense."  He sighed once, then shook his head and picked up his clippers.  "But there, now, this hedge isn't going to trim itself, so we'd best get back to it.  Come on, lad…"

Sam mulled over the new information as Hamfast began to show him how to trim the hedges again.  So the hobbit's parents had drowned!  No wonder he was having bad dreams.  Sam suddenly wished he'd not fled the window as quickly as he had.  His curiosity was bubbling over almost unbearably.  After a moment he managed to contain himself and returned his focus to his work, though still glancing occasionally at the big green door of Bag End.

Hamfast noticed his son's eagerness and chuckled.  "Now, lad, calm down," he said.  "I'm sure when it gets to be a bit later Bilbo'll introduce us to him.  Best we see to the garden for now, though!"

Sam nodded, grinning sheepishly.  "Yes, sir."  He stooped and picked up the ball of twine, unwinding it as he'd been shown, and tried to forget the Bucklander. His father was right: he would have to focus on his chores for now.  But later…

He pushed the thought from his head.  Later is later, not now, he told himself emphatically, and now there's work enough to be done without letting yourself get distracted.

He turned his full attention to his father once again, and was soon so absorbed that he didn't even notice the silent figure that stood watching him from the window, blue eyes brimming with curiosity.


	2. Bag End

Needless to say, it was a bit of a startle for Frodo Baggins when, upon waking in his new home for the first time, he discovered his windowpane had eyes.

Before he could do so much as sit up, however, the eyes disappeared with a startled gasp and a muffled thud.  Frodo sat up quickly, puzzled and still a bit groggy, but when he reached the window the owner of the eyes was gone.

He sighed, running a hand absently through his wild dark curls.  So he was already a spectacle here, even before he'd done so much as leave the hole in daylight.  Great.  

He stumbled blearily over to his dresser and stared into the large gilded mirror that stood atop the heavy oak drawers.  Gazing back at him was a too-skinny, blue-eyed figure, narrow face framed by unruly curls so dark they were almost black, skin far too pale to be considered properly hobbit-like.  He made a face at himself and stuck out his tongue before turning away with a sigh.  He certainly was the stuff of rumors, he mused—a spectacle without even trying to be one.  How he *wished* he had the same sturdy build of most other lads his age, the same sun-browned tan and the same golden-brown curls.  At least in Buckland, he'd managed to blend in to the chaos of Brandy Hall without too much difficulty.  They were used to him there, and didn't so mind his…*abnormalities.*  And most there were, while not as downright skinny as he, of a more slender build than hobbits elsewhere in the Shire.  A few even had his same wild dark curls.  But only his mother had shared his startling cerulean blues, and she…well…

Frodo closed his eyes and pushed the thought roughly away.  It wouldn't do any good to start thinking about his parents here, not when he was already so far away from everything dear and familiar.

Changing quickly into a fresh shirt, he was soon padding down the long hallways of Bag End, trying to remember which way it was to the kitchen.  The winding corridors were a bit mind boggling, though, and after taking a few wrong turns, he found himself standing just outside the parlor.  Frowning and wiping his eyes, absently wondering how he'd managed to get there, it was a moment before the sounds of voices properly registered.  

He snapped his head up, brow furrowed in confusion.  What…?

After a moment of strained listening he was able to pinpoint the source of the voices: drifting in through the large parlor windows, carried on a faint morning breeze.

Frowning slightly, Frodo walked forward, carefully making sure to keep quiet so as not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.  That was certainly the last thing he needed…

After blinking several times to adjust his eyes to the light, he realized he was looking out at Bag End's rows of hedges that stood along the side of the smial.  Two figures were bent over them, rolling out twine and carefully trimming the overgrowth.  Frodo was surprised—one of them was no more than a child.  Bilbo had told him to expect the gardener—what was his name? Hamstead?—in the morning, but Frodo was unsure what to make of the little one.  After watching them for a few moments, however, he was able to guess they were related—father and son, most likely—by their striking similarities in both appearance and demeanor. 

Frodo watched them work, hearing only snippets of conversation.  The gardener—Hamfast, Frodo remembered suddenly—was showing his son how to trim the hedges properly, and much to Frodo's amusement, the lad was taking his task quite seriously indeed.  It suddenly occurred to him that this lad was probably the one who'd been watching him this morning, as Frodo was now watching the lad.  And suddenly, as he stood gazing at the pair, he found he didn't even mind being the object of curiosity anymore.  Not to people such as this.  Frodo found he immediately liked them, even though he didn't really know the first thing about them.  It was something in the way they were so carefully tending the hedge, treating it as though it were every bit as valuable as the most rare of plants and not just as the hedge it was.  There was a feeling of gentle, meticulous care radiating from them both that immediately settled in Frodo's mind as something to be sought out and appreciated.

He was so intent on his observation of the two that he didn't even hear Bilbo enter the room.

"Enjoying yourself, there, Frodo?"

Frodo jumped and spun around, startled.  Seeing Bilbo standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and a look of amusement on his face, made Frodo blush.  He felt as though he were a child who'd been caught doing something wrong. 

"I…uh…I just got lost on the way to the kitchen," he stammered, dropping his gaze abashedly.

Bilbo laughed.  "And you thought watching Master Gamgee at work on the hedge might inspire within you a sense of direction?"

Frodo felt the blush creeping up to the tip of his ears, though he couldn't help but grin.  "Well…no.  But I was just curious."

Bilbo nodded.  "As I'm sure he is about you, but really, Frodo, do you think it's necessary to *spy*?  As if you were still a shy teenager.  Why didn't you just go say hello?"

Frodo shrugged helplessly.  "Well…they looked busy, I didn't want to interrupt."

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but then raised his eyebrows at Frodo.  "They?"  He walked forward without waiting for Frodo's response and peered out the window.  "Ah!  Hamfast has brought along little Samwise, I see!"  He smiled at the sight.

Frodo nodded.  "I think he was watching me this morning," he said.  "When I woke up there was a pair of eyes at my window."

Bilbo laughed, turning away from the window.  "'Twouldn't surprise me at all.  Sam's a dear fellow, but bless him, he's probably the most curious little thing I've ever met, aside from you."

Frodo grinned and ducked his head.  

Bilbo began to walk towards the doorway, and Frodo followed.  "Why don't we see to breakfast, then I'll take you out and introduce you?  Hamfast has some sons about your age, I believe…perhaps he'll be willing to introduce you to them later."

Frodo nodded, but in truth he would have felt more comfortable staying with Bilbo than trying to play with lads his own age.  They were usually so much *bigger* than him—more than once he'd gotten hurt while 'playing' with his older cousins.  Nothing serious, and nothing intentional, but still…Frodo sighed to himself, again cursing his slight build and his inability to put on weight.

Bilbo heard the small sound glanced over his shoulder at his nephew.  "Now, no need for that, Frodo lad," he said.  "I'll not have you hiding up here all the hours of the day.  You need to get a feel for Hobbiton, and the only way to do that is to go out in it.  Don't worry," his voice grew gentler, "most of the folk around here aren't really all that bad, once you get to know them a bit."

Frodo nodded again as they rounded one last corner and the corridor opened itself up into Bag End's generous kitchen.

"Ah!  Some of the crop's come in!" Bilbo exclaimed, bustling over to a pile of freshly picked produce.  "Hamfast must've pulled these last night, bless the dear fellow.  Frodo!  What do you say to a bit of fried tomato and bacon? Eh?"

Frodo nodded, feeling his stomach beginning to grumble at the mention of food.  Bilbo set about to cooking and within a few minutes, they sat in the silence reserved only for meal tables as they enjoyed first breakfast together.

Only after they'd eaten their fill did Bilbo speak again.

"I'll be going into town later today, to pick up a few things at the market," Bilbo said around as he nibbled on a bit of bacon still on his plate.  "I can take you with me, if you'd like, but I imagine you'd probably rather stay here and get a feel for the area around Bag End."

Frodo nodded, grateful.  He didn't feel like going to market yet, not while he was still such a novelty.  Let the folk around here get used to the idea of him first, before he went and made himself the object of public gawking. 

Bilbo nodded once.  "Fine.  I'll need to be going soon, but first let's get you introduced to Hamfast and Samwise, at least."  Seeing the look on Frodo's face, he added thoughtfully, "Hamfast might even let Samwise join you in a bit of exploration later, if you ask him.  Someone ought to see to it you don't get lost."

Frodo grinned sheepishly.  Bilbo's unspoken reference to his getting lost on the way from the bedroom to the kitchen was clear enough.

They stood, clearing what there was of the dishes quickly.  "Come on, then," Bilbo said, and led the way out into Bag End's gardens.

*          *          *


	3. The meeting

Samwise was so intent on his task that he didn't notice the approaching hobbits until his father spoke to them.

"Ah, Master Bilbo!  And our new young Master Baggins.  Welcome back!"

Sam froze for a moment, his eyes wide, then spun around so quickly he nearly lost his balance.  The ball of twine in his hands dropped to the ground, unnoticed, as he stared.  Standing before him and his father was Mr. Bilbo—and standing just behind Mr. Bilbo was the hobbit-lad Sam'd seen through the window.  Sam gulped, suddenly and uncharacteristically shy.  The young hobbit glanced at him for a moment, his eyes even more startling and strikingly blue in the sunlight, before ducking his head again nervously.  Sam realized he was gawking and looked down, embarrassed.  This reminded him of his spying earlier and he wondered  absently if he would be reprimanded for it.  

The adults seemed oblivious to their discomfort, however.

"Thank you, indeed, Hamfast!" Bilbo said, clapping his gardener on the back.  "And young Samwise!  How nice to see you."  

Sam was aware of all pairs of eyes on him, and he blushed.  "'Mornin' Mr. Bilbo, sir," he mumbled, getting clumsily to his feet.  

Bilbo smiled.  "And now if I may introduce my nephew!"  He turned to Frodo, who stepped forward hesitantly, a small, shy smile creeping nervously onto his face as he clasped his hands tightly behind his back.  "Hamfast, Samwise, this is Frodo Baggins.  Frodo: Hamfast and Samwise Gamgee.  Hamfast is the finest gardener in the Shire, and Sam here takes after him quite well in that regard."

Hamfast laughed heartily.  "Come now, Master Bilbo, no need for that!" he said, then turned to Frodo.  "Pleased to meet you, lad!  I hope you'll find Bag End to your liking, and Hobbiton as well."

Frodo nodded.  "Yes, sir, I'm sure I will."

Hamfast nodded, then turned to his son, who was staring fixedly at a spot on the ground, his face burning.  

"Come on, then, lad, say hello," he urged.  "Since when are you at a loss for words, I like to know?"  If it were possible, Sam's face got even redder, but he did manage to raise his eyes.

The older hobbit met his gaze steadily, and the fear that he would be reprimanded for his early morning spying began to melt.

"G--Good morning, Mr. Frodo," he managed, and started to offer his hand.  He hesitated, however, when he realized how dirty it was, and for a moment stood awkwardly, hand frozen in mid air, wondering what to do.   

Frodo, however, merely smiled.  "Good morning to you, Samwise," he said, his voice clear and gentle as he reached out and caught the small grubby hand within his own pale, slender one.  "Though there's no need for the 'Mr.'—I'm hardly old enough for that."  

Sam looked up again, and when his eyes met Frodo's friendly blue ones he felt some of his own shyness melting away.  He managed a small grin, and received one in return before Frodo let go of his hand and straightened. 

"Well, then!" Bilbo said, smiling and clapping Frodo on the back.  "Now that the introductions are made, I have something of a proposition for you, Samwise."

Sam looked up, surprised.  "Me, sir?"

Bilbo looked toward his nephew and his smile broadened.  "Well, see, my Frodo lad isn't too familiar with the land about here," he said, and Frodo grinned and looked down.  Sam wondered if he were missing some private joke, but he didn't have the chance to wonder long before Bilbo continued. "If it would be all right with your Gaffer, I thought perhaps you could show him around a bit, let him know the way of things."

Sam's head snapped towards his father, his brown eyes suddenly hopeful.  

Hamfast glanced down at his son, dirty and tired, and felt a small twinge of guilt for working the lad so hard on his first day.  He'd not complained once, Hamfast recalled, and *had* seemed to be enjoying himself…but he was still a lad, after all.  Hamfast smiled.  

"Of course my Sam'll show him about," he said, earning grins from all three hobbits.  "Can't have him wandering about alone!"  He turned to Bilbo.  "How about I send him along to get cleaned up a bit, and have his mother pack the two of them a nice bit of Elevenses?"

Bilbo looked to Frodo.  "What do you say, lad?" he asked.  Frodo grinned and nodded.  

"That sounds wonderful.  Thank you, Mr. Gamgee." 

Hamfast waved his hand.  "Ah, think nothin' about it, young master," he said.  "I'll just take my Sam here and get him ready, hmm?"

Frodo and Bilbo nodded.  "Frodo will meet you back up here in a quarter of an hour, okay lad?" Bilbo said, and Sam nodded vigorously, his shyness gone.  "Yes sir!"

Bilbo smiled, and he and Frodo turned and walked back into Bag End.

Hamfast glanced down at his son, who was squirming excitedly, and chuckled.  "All right, then, lad, let's go," he said, and they started back down the path.  

As soon as they were out of sight of Bag End, Hamfast turned to his son.  The lad was fairly brimming with excitement, and Hamfast had a sudden trepidation about the whole ordeal.  He paused, and when Sam stopped and looked up at him, Hamfast placed his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Listen, lad," he said sternly, "I want you to be sure and mind you manners with Mr. Frodo today, you hear?  He's the master's heir, so you treat him with just as much respect as you would the master.  And regardless of what he tol' you, you address him as 'Mr.' No sense in getting too familiar with him—he'll likely be your master someday, and you need to respect that.  Understand me?"

Sam, who had gazed wide-eyed at his father during his speech, nodded mutely, somewhat subdued.  Hamfast felt a twinge of remorse, but then steadied himself.  It wouldn't do no good for little Sam to go getting ideas above his station, he told himself.  It was best he learn his place now.  He nodded curtly and released his son's shoulders and the pair began walking again.

They soon reached their small hole.  Hamfast opened the gate and gave Sam a gentle little push.  "Go on, then, lad, and get yerself cleaned up," he said, smiling.  "I'll have yer mum fix you up something."  

He chuckled again as Sam, downcast no longer, dashed into the hole.  "Yes, sir!"

He shook his head, still smiling, and pulled the gate closed behind him.  

Ten minutes later, they were on their way back to Bag End, Samwise clutching a large picnic basket filled with his mother's best cakes.  He'd cleaned himself up, rinsing away the dirt, sweat and grime from working in the garden, and was now wearing his finest shirt—a white, homespun, button-down cotton one his mother had made for his very own.  It was one of the few things he owned that wasn't hand-me-down, and he was immensely proud of it.  He'd traded his dirty breeches for a fresh pair and his mother had even made an attempt at running a comb through his wild curls.  Now, faintly flushed with excitement and beaming, he again walked with his father through Bag End's gates.  

Hamfast patted his son on the shoulder.  "Well, lad, you have a good time, and mind yourself," he said.  Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Mind the shirt, too—your mother'll have a royal fit if anything were to happen to it, and make no mistake."  He smiled, knowing Sam would take care of the shirt without a reminder.  Though young, the lad was already quite responsible.  Sam nodded, eyes shining eagerly.  "Well, off with you, then!" Hamfast said, as he turned to set to work on the hedges again.

Sam grinned and turned back towards Bag End's large green door.  Summoning his courage, he walked forward and knocked twice, still feeling a bit hesitant.  After a moment, the door swung open, and Frodo stood before him.  At the sight of the warm smile on the older hobbit's face, all of Sam's hesitation melted, and he boldly held out his hand. 

"Ready, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo's smile broadened.  "Ready, Mr. Samwise," he said, taking the child's hand within his own.  And with that, the pair walked out of the white gate and headed down the lane.

*          *          *


	4. Lazy Afternoon

*          *          *

Sam, despite the warning from his father, was finding it extremely difficult to contain his curiosity.

He glanced up again at the older hobbit walking along side him, one hand holding the basket he'd insisted on taking, the other easily enfolding Sam's own.  They'd been walking for a good ten minutes or so, but hardly a word had been spoken between them.  While the silence wasn't quite awkward, it did sit heavily between them, and though Sam dearly longed to break it, the talk his Gaffer had given him earlier had made him rather nervous. He was afraid he might unwittingly offend his would-be friend.

Frodo, conscious of the younger hobbit's gaze, glanced down at the round face staring so wonderingly into his own.  He smiled slightly, though it was tinged with concern, as Sam blushed and immediately looked away.

"Sam?  What is it?"  

If possible, Sam turned even redder.  "Umm…oh, nothing, Mr. Frodo," he mumbled, keeping his eyes downcast.

Frodo tilted his head.  "Sam?  I though we'd agreed to dispense with the 'Mr.'"

Sam looked up at him, turmoil plain on his face.  He didn't want to disobey his gaffer, who had made it quite clear that formal titles were a necessity, but…how could he blatantly refuse to do what Frodo had told him?  Wouldn't that be just as bad?

Frodo stopped walking and turned to face Sam, perplexed at the pensive silence.  "What's the matter?"

Sam opened his mouth but couldn't seem to think of anything to say.  Finally he settled on, "Nothing…*Frodo*."  The last was whispered so hesitantly that Frodo almost didn't hear it. 

Smiling again, though still rather troubled at the child's suddenly timid behavior, he turned and began to walk again.  Deciding it was time to change the subject, he said, "So where are we going, lad?"

Sam immediately brightened.  "I though I could take you down to the creek, if you wish," he replied, his face animated.  "There's some great trees down there—I'm not big enough to climb some of them yet, but some of them have branches right down to the ground—and rocks to climb and even a cave!"  He suddenly frowned.  "Mama says we're not 'lowed to go back there, though.  It's dangerous."  He nodded wisely, and Frodo had to hide his grin.

"Well, we'd best heed her advice," he replied, keeping his voice at a solemn pitch to match Sam's and doing his best not to chuckle at seeing the lad so somber.  "But as for the trees we had some good ones back in Buckland.  Maybe between the two of us we can get into some of the bigger ones.  Tell me about the creek, then, Sam.  Is it good for swimming?"

Sam turned his head quickly, looking positively horrified.  "Swimming?" he whispered.  "You…you like to swim, sir?"  He recalled his Gaffer's words about how Frodo's parents had died, and couldn't believe Frodo still enjoyed such a dangerous pastime.  "But…but…I *can't* swim!"  His voice was near panic.

Frodo turned, alarmed at Sam's sudden anxiety.  "Well, we don't have to, Sam, if you don't want," he said quickly.  "I just thought…don't the lads here like the water?  In Buckland it's quite popular with some of the younger ones."

Sam stared wide-eyed up at him.  "Oh, no, sir, begging your pardon, sir!  M…my Gaffer…he says I…I'm not to do it.  Says it's not natural for a hobbit!"  Sam suddenly bit his lip, realizing he'd as much as called Frodo unnatural.  Oh, how angry would his Gaffer be, when he found out…!

But Frodo didn't look offended.  He merely smiled slightly.  "Well, then, we'd best not be doing anything your Gaffer doesn't approve of," he said, his tone somewhat distant, then was silent again.

Sam felt terrible.  The day wasn't going at all the way he'd planned.  He was already at odds with Frodo, first for the 'Mr.' and now for this.  He swallowed, vowing silently he would keep quiet from now on unless Frodo spoke to him directly.  

It wasn't far to the creek, though the tense silence between them made the short walk seem quite long indeed.  Finally, however, they did arrive, and Frodo saw with some amusement that it was only perhaps six inches deep at the most.  Sam's fears had been rather unfounded, at least concerning this particular stream.  He didn't say anything, however.  In truth, he was somewhat at a loss.  His earlier attempt at making conversation had failed miserably, ending with Sam more or less declaring Frodo unnatural and then growing withdrawn, as though reluctant to speak with him.  Frodo knew the slip about the swimming was not something Sam had intended to do; however, intentional or not, he *had* said it.  They were not exactly off to the best of starts.  Frodo sighed unhappily at the thought; he had been so hoping he and Sam would get on well.  The lad reminded him rather of his cousin Merry.  

Sam turned quickly at Frodo's sigh, immediately concerned.  Misinterpreting the cause, he said hesitantly, "W—we don't have to stay here, Mr. Frodo, if you don't like it.  I just…I mean, we can go somewhere else."

Frodo turned to the lad and smiled reassuringly.  "Nonsense, Sam!" he said.  "This looks perfect.  Shall we climb first or do you want to eat?"  He decided not to mention that Sam had called him 'Mr. Frodo' again.

Looking slightly relieved, Sam pondered.  

"Maybe we'd best climb first," he said after a moment.  "I'm not sure as I could get up into the trees after I eat, if you follow me."

Frodo laughed, and set the basket down.  "Then climb we shall!" he declared.  "Come, Sam, let's find a tree that looks like it could use a couple hobbit-lads in it."

~          ~          ~

Two hours later, Frodo sat back on the cool grass with a sigh.  "I must say, Sam, your mother certainly makes a wonderful seedcake," he said, rubbing a hand over his stomach.

Sam grinned.  "Aye, she does at that, thank'ee Mr. Frodo.  Now you see as why I didn't want to climb after we'd eaten them."

Frodo chuckled, nodding in agreement.  Though the amount of food in the basket hadn't looked like much, he felt as full now as he would after a feast at Brandy Hall.  "Right you are, Master Samwise.  I shall forever heed your advice in matters of this nature."

Sam giggled at being addressed as 'master,' watching as Frodo massage his stomach gingerly.  "Takes you a bit by surprise, don't it?" he said.  He himself had known well enough when to stop, but Frodo had plowed through the cakes as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks.  Sam wouldn't have been surprised if that was true; the older hobbit certainly looked like he'd needed a good feeding.  His grin widened as Frodo winced slightly and stretched.  "Aye, lad, that it does.  I feel I could use a nap now."  With that, he stretched himself out under the spreading oak they sat beneath, crossing his ankles in front of him and folding his arms behind his head. 

Sam tilted his head, considering.  After their initial awkwardness, they'd both begun to loosen up a little, rather a necessity while climbing some of the more difficult trees.  Frodo had seemed genuinely interested in anything Sam told him, and Sam found himself liking the strange Bucklander more and more.  He was used to his brothers treating him as the baby, disregarding most of what he said, but Frodo wasn't like that.  He'd admitted to Sam that most of his cousins he was so fond of were about Sam's age, and that because of his size he usually found himself more comfortable around younger children.  Sam had been deeply touched, not only because of what Frodo had said but because he'd felt he could confide in Sam.  He'd even managed to stop calling him 'Mr.' Frodo.  He wasn't sure what his Gaffer would say, but Sam was now nearly convinced he and Frodo could be friends, regardless of differences in age or class. He took a deep breath and decided to try his luck.  

Scooting close until he was right beside the drowsing Bucklander, he asked hesitantly, "Do…do you think you could tell me a story, Frodo?"

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled at the young hobbit gazing hopefully down at him.  Sitting up and settling back against the tree, he pulled Sam to lean against his arm.  "Of course, Sam.  What would you like to hear about?"

"Do you know something with Elves, sir?  Mr. Bilbo tells me about them sometimes.  Someday," he said decisively "someday I'd like to meet one.  Do you think I will, Frodo?"

Frodo laughed, the musical sound drifting up into the trees.  "Perhaps you will, Sam!  Now, a story of Elves…"

The two settled back, and soon the sound of Frodo's voice drifted into the lazy afternoon sunshine, relating stories of the Lady Varda, and Eärendil and the Silmarils.  After a while, he noticed his audience had drifted off, and smiling, tucked the lad a bit more snugly against his side. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.  Soon he, too, was fast asleep.

*          *          *


	5. Complications

Hamfast Gamgee was so intent upon his work he didn't notice the two lads coming up the hill until they were nearly to Bag End's gate.  Glancing up sharply at the sound of laughter, he saw Samwise and the young Mr. Frodo ambling lazily up the hill, hand in hand.  The Master was carrying the basket, much to Hamfast's chagrin, while Sam shuffled along at his side, grinning at something Frodo told him.  

Hamfast stood from where he had been crouching next to the hedges and watched as the pair made their slow but steady approach.  

"Oy!  Samwise!" he called when they were in range.  "Come along then, lad, what do you think you're doin', lettin' Master Frodo carry that basket?"

Both heads snapped up at the Gaffer's voice.  Frodo's face broke into a small smile at the Gaffer's words, thinking them in jest, but Sam cringed a little. 

"Um…sorry, sir," Sam mumbled to Frodo, snatching the basket away before Frodo could protest.  "Sorry, Da!" he called. 

Hamfast frowned, and Sam shrunk back a little further.  "Come along, then, lad," he said, his voice not quite harsh but still very stern.

Sam nodded.  "Yes sir!"  Then, turning towards the older hobbit next to him, said, "Bye, Frodo."

Frodo's smile had faded as he watched the exchange between father and son, but at Samwise's words it returned.  "Bye, Sam," he said.  "I'll see you tomorrow."

Sam grinned and nodded happily, his sandy-blond curls bouncing at the enthusiastic movement.  Then he turned and hurried to his father's side as Frodo made his way into the hole.

Sam's grin, however, dropped back off his face when he saw his father's face.  

Hamfast Gamgee was a stern hobbit, and it was easy to arouse his displeasure; however, he was not a brash man, and anger rarely overcame him.  There were precious few times in his short life that Sam had seen his father truly furious.  

Once, his brother Hal had fallen from one of the trees in Farmer Maggot's orchard while thieving his apples; the lad had broken not only his wrist but a good portion of the farmer's fence as well.  Farmer Maggot had had to bring him home in his cart, and it was only after much apologizing, bowing, and promises to pay for the stolen apples and mend the broken fence that Hamfast allowed the overwhelmed hobbit to leave.  Sam, who had only been three at the time, could still recall the way his father's eyes glinted like cold steel, the way his fists trembled from suppressed rage, the way his lips pressed together until they were nearly white.  It had frightened him badly, and he'd vowed to do whatever was necessary to avoid that cold fury being directed at him.

But now it was back, and Sam for the life of him couldn't say what had brought it on.

"Sam," Hamfast gritted, without even looking at his son, "go stand outside the gate and wait for me.  I'm going to say good day to Mr. Bilbo."  With that he turned on his heels and walked towards smial.

Sam stood stunned for a moment, but once his wits had recovered some he hurried to comply.  The last thing he needed was his father thinking he was being disobedient as well.

When Hamfast raised his fist to knock on the door, he was surprised to see it trembling.  Clenching his fingers tightly behind his back, he did his best to look calm when Bilbo opened the door.

"Ah, Hamfast!  And what can I do for…?" Bilbo's jovial speech faded as he took in the hobbit before him.  "Hamfast?  Is there something wrong?"

Ham realized he still wore his tight-lipped, grim expression, and he immediately forced a smile onto his face.  "Nay, nothin' at all, master, I was just wishin' to see if you'd be needin' anything else before I and Sam-lad head home," he said, the cheer in his voice sounding strained even to him.  

Bilbo shook his hand, the smile returning, though hesitantly.  "No, no, Hamfast, that's quite all right," he said.  He turned and looked around for a moment, then asked, "Where's Samwise?"

Hamfast nodded curtly towards the path.  "He's waiting by the gate."

Bilbo smiled.  "Thank you for sparing the lad today," he said.  "I'm sure Frodo appreciated having someone to talk to.  I understand there's quite the age difference between them, so tell little Sam I said thanks as well for bein' so willin' to show my lad around."  He turned and glanced into the hole, then said, "When I was at the market today I ran into the old Boffins, and they said their lads would be more'n happy to meet with Frodo.  They're coming in the morning to pick him up."  He smiled at his gardener.  "I think he'll fit in fine, once he gets to know the way of the place," he said, seemingly as much to convince himself as anything.

Hamfast smiled, and it was genuine this time.  "Nay, not to worry, Master Bilbo," he said.  "The lad'll do fine.  They always adjust quickly, at his age…"

Bilbo grinned and nodded gratefully.  "Aye, they do at that," he murmured, then clapped Hamfast on the shoulder.  "Well, then, good day to you, Master Gamgee."

Hamfast bowed politely. "Good day to you, Master."

~          ~          ~

Sam was so nervous he'd worked himself into quite a state by the time his father returned.  They began walking silently for a bit, and the tension in the air between them made Sam want to cry.  

'Oh, what did I do, what did I do?' he wondered miserably.

Hamfast glanced down at his son, all trembling and wide-eyed as he walked along side his father, and felt a sharp twinge of remorse. 

"Come, then, Sam-lad, it's naught to get so worked up about, then," he said softly.

Sam's head snapped around, and he gazed at his father with large, wet eyes.

"But…Da, what is it?  What did I do?"

Hamfast sighed, but was unable to arouse his previous anger.  "Sam-lad…I told you to call him "Mr.", didn't I?"

Sam gasped.  Was *that* what all this was about?  "Oh!  Umm..y—yes, sir, you surely did, but I…he…"

Hamfast tilted his head.  "What, then, lad?  Out with it, now."

Sam gazed pleadingly up at his father.  "Oh, Dad, he told me not to!  I did, I really did, but he said…he said he'd rather I didn't, and Da, how could I obey him and obey you at the same time?"

He was so distressed Hamfast couldn't help but reach out and embrace him.

"There, then, lad," he said as the boy wept.  "We'll figure this out, don't worry."

Sam nodded miserably.  

Deciding a change of subject was at hand, Ham said, "So did you lads have a good time?"

Sam brightened instantly.  "Oh, yes, Da!  He's wonderful, he really is!  And he's not unnatural, it's just the swimmin', but he tells some great stories and he likes our seedcakes and his cousins are my age and the other lads are too big anyway, so he feels more happy around me anyhow, he told me so!"

Hamfast nodded slowly, a bit bewildered at the rather incoherent reply but happy for his son nonetheless.  

"Well…that's good then, isn't it lad?" he said.  "I'm glad you've enjoyed yourselves."

Sam nodded happily.  "Me'n him, we're gonna be best friends someday," he said.

Hamfast stopped dead in his tracks, his previous good cheer draining instantly.

Sam turned around and gazed up at his father, startled and then fearful as the color first drained from his cheeks then returned with full force.

"What…what did you say?" Hamfast whispered.

Sam shrunk back.  "I…I said me'n him…were…gonna be best friends," he whispered, wondering what he'd done this time.

Hamfast could hardly control his trembling.  Oh, this was not going to be easy, he thought.  The poor lad was still so young…how could Ham make him understand?  Station has no place in the minds and hearts of youth, but it weren't his proper place to be makin' such claims about the Master's heir…

"D…Da?"  Sam whispered.

Hamfast looked with pity down on his youngest.  "Come along then, Sam-lad…we'd best be getting home."

He would say no more.

~          ~          ~

Later that evening, after an excited Sam had told his mother and siblings all he'd done with Mr. Frodo (he'd gone back to calling him that, knowing he'd have to at least in front of his Da), Hamfast sat in the kitchen smoking his pipe as Bell began to clear away the dinner dishes.  The other children had gone 'round to play; all except Sam, who was sitting in the back in his own little flower garden (a small plot of land they'd let him have at his request, certain it would be no good for growing anything else—the lad had shown marvelous skill in that he'd been able to nurse it back to life).

Ham fingered his pipe, made of beautifully carved mahogany and kept meticulously polished, lost in his thoughts.  

"I don't know, Ham," Bell's voice suddenly broke through his brooding.  "I don't like this.  Not one bit.  Look at him!"  

She indicated the window, through which a very content Samwise could be seen happily pulling up weeds and tending to the new spring shoots of his latest planting.

Hamfast tilted his head and waited for her to continue.

"I mean," she said after a moment, "he looks so…well, happy!  And I'd be happy for him, if I weren't so sure…" she hesitated.

"Sure of what, Bell?" Hamfast prompted gently.

She sighed, dropping her hands into the dishwater and gazing into the suds as if they contained all the answers.

"How many lads of Mr. Frodo's age and status, well-mannered though they may be, are really going to want to befriend a lad like our Sam?" she whispered, tears starting in her eyes.  "He's a wonderful child, Hamfast, don't misunderstand me…but Ham…he's still a child, and he's *our* child." She spun around and looked at him.  "And you know as well as I do we're not of the class to let our son befriend the master's heir."

Hamfast sighed, approaching his wife and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.  She leaned against him, burying her face at his collarbone.  "He looks so happy," she whispered.  "I just don't want to see his heart broken when he realizes…I mean to say, when Mr. Frodo gets to know some of the other well-to-do lads his own age, will he really want to spend time with our Sam?"

Hamfast sighed.  It had been precisely what he'd been worried about, ever since Sam's brash declaration on the walk home that evening.  "I know, lass," he said.  "He's got to be made to understand…and best tonight, before this goes too far."

She nodded, her shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her face. 

"There, now, lass," he said, wrapping his other arm around her and holding her tightly.  "He must understand…'twould be kinder to make him see now, than to let him go on believing…"

She nodded, and with a last sniff pulled away from her husband's embrace and turned back to the dishes. 

"Go, then," she whispered.  "Make him understand."

~          ~          ~

Sam was humming lightly when Hamfast entered the garden.  The lad looked up as he heard his father approaching, and gave him a large grin. "Hi Da!" he said.  Hamfast smiled back, though it felt forced even to him, and knelt next to his son.

"And how's the garden then, Sam-lad?" he said.  "Those snap-dragons look like they're doing well."

"Oh, yes sir," he said.  "I'm doin' jus' like you tol' me, keepin' everything clear of the weeds and such."

Hamfast nodded, ruffling the boys curls.  "You're doin' right well, then," he said, gazing about the lush patch of colorful blossoms.  

Sam grinned again.  "I'm clearin' everything up," he said.  "Mr. Frodo said he'd come over tomorrow morning and see my flowers, so I want 'em to be lookin' real nice an' everything."

Hamfast sighed.  It seemed there would be no avoiding this.

"Sam-lad…that's why I've come to talk to you," he said.  Sam looked up at him, worried at his father's tone.  

"Yes, Da?"  He asked, his voice growing a bit hesitant.  "What is it?"

Hamfast sighed.  Oh, this was not going to be easy.

"You see, lad," he began, "Mr. Frodo's the master's heir now.  Or leastways he will be before long, I'm sure.  And…well, once he gets to know the ways of the place a bit better…he's gonna want to be around lads and lasses his own age and standing, see?"

Sam frowned.  "I…I don't understand," he said softly.

Hamfast sighed again.  "Lad…folk like you and me, we…well, we're not as well off as Master Bilbo or Mr. Frodo," he said.  "It's called class, you see?  We, well, the likes of us work for the likes of them, do you see?"

Sam tilted his head.  "Like you work in Mr. Bilbo's garden?"

Hamfast nodded.  "Exactly.  So you see…it isn't right for gentlehobbits such as Mr. Frodo to be…well, to be spending too much time with…"  Hamfast broke off.  Damn it, why was this so hard?  Sam was gazing up at him, a question in his innocent brown eyes.  Why couldn't he see?  Why couldn't he understand it weren't their place to be callin' the likes of Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo anything but their masters?

"Samwise," he said, taking both his son's hands in his, "we're gardeners.  Gardeners, my boy.  We're not rich or upstanding or learned like the masters.  And while it was fine for you to show Mr. Frodo around today, it…it ain't proper to be assuming he'll be your friend."

Sam gulped, his eyes abruptly filling.  "But…but we…he…"

Hamfast shook his head.  "I know, lad," he said.  "It's hard.  But believe me, it's best to accept that now."

Sam shook his head.  "But he said he'd like to be my friend!" he said.  "He's gonna come over tomorrow mornin'--!"

"Nay, lad, he isn't," Hamfast said, cutting him off.  "Mr. Bilbo told me the Boffin lads were going to come over in the morning to see him; he'll be off with them."

Sam's eyes, if possible, went even rounder, and his chin began to tremble.  "But…but…!"

Hamfast shook his head, growing impatient.  "Look, lad, that's the way of things.  I'm sorry you had to learn at such a young age, but there it is.  Mr. Frodo's a fine lad, and I'm certain he'll be a wonderful master, but Sam, you can't go getting ideas above your station, wishin' for it to be any more'n that."

With that he stood and brushed off his pant legs.  "That's all there is to it," he whispered, and turned quickly to walk towards the smial, though he was not quick enough to avoid hearing the sounds of Sam's pitiful sobs.

He closed the door to the smial behind him and leaned against the frame heavily, placing a trembling hand over his brow.  Bell approached him from behind and wrapped her arms about his waist, and he leaned against her gratefully.  

"'Twas the right thing to do," she whispered.  "Truly, it was.  Best to nip this thing in the bud, as you're always saying…"

He nodded.  "Aye, lass, right again," he said.  "But that doesn't make it any easier."

As they stood listening to Sam's muffled sobs, Bell shook her head.  "No," she whispered.  "It doesn't.  It doesn't make it any easier at all."


	6. Resolution

Sam stayed out in his garden for a long time after his father left, long after twilight had faded into dusk and finally deepened into starlit night.  He cried until he could cry no more, until his throat hurt and his eyes stung and his head throbbed.  Still, he could not believe what his father had told him.

It wasn't true.  It couldn't be!  Frodo…Frodo was so…well, *nice*!  He was the nicest hobbit Sam had ever met.  He wouldn't…he just *couldn't* be the way his Gaffer had said.  Even if they *were* only gardeners.  That wouldn't matter to Frodo, would it?  It hadn't seemed to.

Sam sniffled, shifting to sit more comfortably among the violets and snap-dragons.  He fingered their delicate petals gently, letting his thoughts wander over the events of the day.  He and Frodo had had such a marvelous time…*surely* Frodo wasn't going to just *abandon* him…

…was he?

Sam frowned again, swallowing around the persistent lump in his throat.  

No.  He wasn't.  He said he'd like to be Sam's friend.  He'd said it.  He must've meant it.  He *must* have…

Sam released a shuddering sigh as he gazed absently at the flowers he'd taken such care to grow.  

Frodo was coming tomorrow.  He'd said he was, and so Sam was going to believe it.  He would keep believing it, too.  

Sam sighed again, absently brushing away the new tears that were beginning to prick the corners of his eyes.

It wasn't only the business about Frodo that had hurt.  Sam's Gaffer had made him feel like they were…*inferior*, somehow, to other hobbits.  Thinking back, Sam realized he had noticed a…well, a sort of formal distance at which his Gaffer held himself when he was around Mr. Bilbo, or any of the other 'Mr.'s they encountered.  Sam had always believed it to be a form of civility—his Gaffer was so bent on manners and respect, after all—and he'd never thought anything of it, before now.

But even if they were somehow a lower—what had his Gaffer called it? station—than Mr. Bilbo and Frodo, surely that didn't mean they couldn't all be friends…did it?  After all, when it came right down to it, there weren't many differences between them.  True, Mr. Bilbo wore fancy clothes and lived in a nicer hole than Sam could ever dream of living in, and he was certainly more learned than any hobbit Sam had ever known…but did all of that really *matter*, when it came right down to it?

Frodo hadn't seemed to think so.

"He'll come," Sam whispered, wiping away his tears with resolve.  "He said he would, and he will, that's all there is to it."  

He stood and brushed his pants off, then marched into the hole, his chin set stubbornly.  He didn't have any reason to think Frodo wouldn't be there in the morning, and he wouldn't believe what his gaffer had told him about them not bein' able to be friends until he heard it from Frodo himself.  Until then, there was no need to get worked up about it…everything would turn out fine.  It *would*.

After Sam had washed himself, changed into his nightshirt and crawled under his covers, his Gaffer came in to say goodnight.  Sam rolled over, keeping his back to his father, pretending to be asleep.  He didn't feel quite like facing him just yet; he was afraid he'd start crying again, and he didn't want to.  He'd done enough of that this evening.  He'd heard his father sigh from the doorway, and just before he'd left the room again he heard the faintest of whispers:

"I'm so sorry, dear Samwise."

As his father pulled the door shut with a soft *snick*, Sam breathed again, a few tears leaking down his face.

Oh, how he hoped beyond hope that just this time, his father could be wrong…

*          *          *


	7. Further Complications

*Well, one thing's for certain,* Frodo though as he gazed about the kitchen, *I'm not going to go hungry here.*

Aloud, he said, "Uncle Bilbo?  Are we expecting company?  Say, the last alliance, perhaps?"

Bilbo jumped, then winced as his thumb brushed against the pot of stew he'd been stirring.  "Lad, you move like an elf!" he marveled, turning to face his ward while placing the offended digit in his mouth.  "How long've you been standing there?"

Frodo smiled.  "Only a few minutes."

Bilbo shook his head, then pointed at the various dishes he'd prepared with the ladle he held.  "It's about time," he said in response to Frodo's earlier comment, "someone made sure you were eating properly, my boy.  I won't have you wasting away like a wraith right before my eyes, not if my cooking and Hamfast's gardening have anything to say about it.  Didn't they feed you in Brandy Hall?"

Frodo sighed.  "I eat, Uncle," he said quietly.  

Bilbo caught the melancholy of Frodo's tone and his expression softened.  "Well, lad, we'll just see what living in Bag End does for that slim figure o' yours, then," he said lightly, then, brightening, said, "And speaking of the Gamgees, did you and Samwise enjoy yourselves today?"

Frodo brightened, equally eager to talk of Samwise as he was to turn talk away from his build.  "Oh, yes, Bilbo," he said, smiling fondly as he thought of the lad.  "He reminds me a lot of Merry, though he's not quite as rambunctious as Merry is." 

Bilbo laughed.  "Yes, you two were certainly a pair, as I remember," he said, turning and stirring the simmering stew again.  He raised the ladle and took an experimental sip, then made a face and reached for a canister of spice.  "Perhaps a lad like Sam'll be good to bring you back down to earth again."

"Hardly," Frodo said, chuckling in turn, "all he wanted to hear tell about this afternoon were Elves."

Bilbo threw a fond glance over his shoulder at his nephew.  "And this bothered you?" he said, raising a knowing eyebrow.  

Frodo rolled his eyes.  If there was one thing that bothered him about Brandy Hall, it was the utter lack of imagination some of the folk there displayed.  He'd always delighted in Bilbo's visits, begging to be allowed to stay up late and listen as Bilbo told tales of his adventures to far away places and the strange and wonderful people he'd met along the way.  Certainly finding another lad who enjoyed the tales as much as he did wasn't going to *bother* him.  He shook his head as Bilbo began to laugh again.

Frodo walked over and perched on a stool next to the counter, eyeing the various dishes that sat cooling before him. 

"What's the occasion, then?" he said after a moment.  "Certainly you don't usually eat this much alone, and I'll be buggered if you expect *me* to be able to."  He winced as he realized he'd once again brought up his sadly lacking hobbit appetite, but Bilbo mercifully let it slide.

"To celebrate your first real night at Bag End, my lad," he said, turning down the flames and carrying the steaming pot to the counter.  "We were certainly to tired last night to have a proper breaking-in—watch yourself, lad, there you go"—Frodo leaned back to make room as Bilbo set the steaming pot atop the wicker potholder before him—"so we must do so tonight.  Ah!  Now, have I forgotten anything?"  Bilbo scratched his head for a moment, looking around, but then seemed satisfied.  He clapped his hands together.  "Good!  Now, then, let's feast, shall we?"  He winked, and Frodo blushed again.  

After a brief sorting of plates, forks, knives and spoons, the victuals were served, and even Frodo found himself returning for second and third helpings.  Bilbo laughed as he watched.  "There, lad, I thought a bit o' my cooking would do you some good," he said, leaning back with a satisfied look on his face as Frodo dished out more of the spinach, mushroom and artichoke casserole.  

Frodo grinned as he returned to his seat, making a show of digging enthusiastically into his food.  Bilbo laughed again, leaning back and patting his belly.  "Well, lad, all I can say is if you ate like that at Brandy Hall, it's amazing you aren't too large to fit into the hole."  

Frodo laughed.  "Now, Uncle, what cook of Brandy Hall could ever hope to match your skill in the kitchen?"  

Bilbo smiled.  "Well, lad, thank you at that, but as I say half the credit must go to our good Master Gamgee.  He's the one responsible for bringing in the vegetable crop, and a delightful crop it's been this year, too!"  He smiled and shook his head fondly.  "He's a dear chap, but he is starting to feel the weight of the years.  I'm not surprised as he's begun to bring young Sam into the garden as well.  The lad has much to learn before he'll be able to take over for his father.

Frodo frowned.  "But Bilbo," he said after a moment's consideration, "why Sam?  I mean, he's so young…why not one of the older lads?  You said Hamfast had sons my age…?"

Bilbo nodded.  "Aye, lad, he does at that, but nary a one of them has the same amount of passion for the work as little Sam, even at his age.  Hamfast has that same passion, and granted he'll want to pass along his position here to his most talented of children.  That would be our dear Samwise."  He stretched for a moment, then clapped his hand over his curly head.  "Well, bless me!" he cried.  "I'd nearly forgotten!  Frodo lad, I've got a bit o' news for you."  Frodo straightened, waiting as his uncle fished around for his pipe and tobacco pouch.  As he lit up, he said, "When I was in the market today, I ran into old  Griffo Boffin.  During the course of conversation you were brought up, and he said he was sure lads would like to meet you.  They're about your age, I believe."  Bilbo smiled.  "I told him you'd be delighted.  They're coming by tomorrow morning."

He sat back, looking pleased.  Frodo could only sit stunned for a moment.  He finally realized Bilbo seemed to be waiting for a response, so he said,  "M…my age, did you say?"  He tried, but couldn't quite hide the slight tremble in his voice.

Bilbo's smile faltered a little, but he nodded, reaching for more Old Toby.  "Aye, 'round seven, I believe," he said.  "Why, lad?  You look troubled.  I thought you'd like to be meeting hobbits your age…?"

"Oh, no, Bilbo, it's not that…" Frodo bit his lip.  Though he was loath to admit it, he was distinctly uncomfortable about being the new hobbit in a group of lads his age.  Big lads, most likely.  And strong.  And what was Frodo?  Pale, thin as a willow wand…it would be nothing like spending time with dear little Sam, he was sure, he would have to be on his guard…

Sam.  Suddenly Frodo sat bolt upright, nearly spilling his drink and startling Bilbo into dropping his pipe. 

"Lad!" he said, picking it up and wiping the ashes from his trousers.  "Whatever is the matter?"

"Bilbo…Sam!" Frodo said.  "I promised him I'd come see his garden in the morning!"

Bilbo frowned, looking troubled.  "Well, lad, certainly that can wait…?  After all, old Griffo's bringing the lads down himself, and I can't really tell him you're not here when he arrives…"   

"But I promised him, Uncle!" Frodo grabbed a handful of curls and swept them from his forehead, looking distraught.  "I can't go breaking my promises like that!  What will he think of me?"

Bilbo had opened his mouth to speak, but at that last he closed it and gave Frodo a sideways glance.  "I'm certain he'll understand, Frodo my lad," he said.  "After all, he can't expect you not to be curious about some of the other children, perhaps ones more suited for your company…"

At his words Frodo felt sudden anger well within him.  "And just what do you mean by that?" he snapped, earning him another startled glance.

"Nay, lad, nothing!" Bilbo said, his frown deepening.  "Only that Sam's so much younger than you are…I thought you might feel more comfortable around hobbits your own age, is all."

Frodo's anger subsided as abruptly as it had arisen.  "Oh," he said, his voice small.  "I thought you meant…"

Bilbo tilted his head.  "What, lad?"

Frodo shrugged one shoulder and waved his hand in a vague manner.  "You know…that he's the gardener's son, and all…"

Bilbo's eyes lit up in sudden comprehension.  "Ah," he said.  "Your anger is excusable then.  Nay, lad, there's no concern for class in Bag End, and you'll do well to remember that," he said.  Frodo nodded emphatically, glad his uncle shared his view on the matter.  Bilbo smiled, then turned serious again.    "But listen, lad," he said, "I can't very well cancel now, t'would be most impolite, you see?  So perhaps it'd be best if you run along with the Boffin lads tomorrow and see Sam later?  He does live right down the row, after all."

Frodo nodded slowly, but bit his lip, still troubled.  "Aye…but…Bilbo, what if he's angry, or thinks I'm ignoring him, or something?"

Bilbo considered that for a moment, then said slowly, recalling, "Well…I told the Gaffer about the meetin'—I'm certain he'll be able to pass that along to Sam.  And you can go see him yourself tomorrow afternoon, how's that?"

Frodo sighed.  There would be no other option, not with his uncle so set on this.  "Yes, Uncle," he said, absently pushing his food about his plate.  The thought of eating no longer appealed to him.  He remembered the joy in the young gardener's eyes when Frodo'd promised to visit in the morning, and felt his heart clench with guilt.

*Oh, I hope he understands…* Frodo thought.  *But Bilbo's right—surely if the Gaffer spoke with him he will.*  

But even later, after the dinner dishes were cleared and they'd long since retired to bed, Frodo was troubled.  He stayed awake a long time, gazing at the darkened ceiling, his thoughts drifting between his fear of the Boffins and his dread about Sam.   He rolled over and stared out the window, at the pane where he'd first met Sam's curious brown gaze only this morning.  

"Please let him understand," he whispered to the night before drifting into a light, troubled sleep.

*          *          *


	8. A matter of station

Frodo was awakened quite suddenly by a sharp rapping at his door.

"Frodo-lad, up with you now!" came Bilbo's voice from the hall.  "Our guests will be arriving soon, best you be ready!"

Groggily Frodo sat up, wondering why there was a distinctly unsettled feeling in his stomach; he felt vaguely as though he'd taken a swig of too much blackberry cordial.  Then the events of the previous day came crashing down on him, and he flopped back onto the mattress with a moan.  

The Boffins.  Right.

Bilbo heard him, and knocked again.  "Come on, lad, none of that!" he said, his voice a touch sterner.  "We don't want to keep them waiting.  Up with you!"

"I'm coming, Uncle," he called.  "Half a moment!"

He heard Bilbo mutter something under his breath but turn and walk back towards the kitchen.  He stretched for a moment, then kicked off his coverlet, sitting up again.  "Well," he mumbled to himself, "might as well get this over with."

With that he stood and went to go wash up.

~          ~          ~

Sam woke from his fitful sleep at the first peeking of the sun from behind his curtains. He sat up quickly. Frodo!  If he came--*when* he came, Sam corrected himself angrily—Sam wanted to be ready.  He leapt from his bed and hurried to the washroom.

*Oh, please…*

~          ~          ~

A sharp rap at Bag End's door startled Frodo from his breakfast.  

"Well, that'll be them, then!" Bilbo said jovially, standing and hurrying towards the door.  Frodo closed his eyes.

~          ~          ~

Sam hurriedly filled a basin with water and grabbed a wash clout, working a ball of lye soap over it hastily.  He then scrubbed his face, neck, even behind his ears, as quickly as he'd ever done in his life.    Drying hastily he practically sprinted to the kitchen, where his mother was just beginning to prepare first breakfast.  

"Sam, lad!" she cried as he dashed around her and grabbed a piece of bread off the counter.  "What on earth is the hurry?"

"Sorry Mum!" he called as he started to head back out, biting into his bread as he ran.

"Samwise Gamgee!" she cried, and he stopped, looking back at her guiltily.  "You just sit down, then, and eat at the table!  I've raised you better than that, lad."

Sam ducked his head and scurried back to the table.  Pulling himself up quickly, he once again tore into his meager breakfast, nearly choking in his haste.

"Chew, lad," Hamfast Gamgee said as he came up behind the coughing child, patting him firmly on the back.  "That's what you got teeth for."

Sam mumbled a vague apology around his mouthful, but did not slow down.  Within minutes he sprang up again, clapping his hands together to rid them of the crumbs.  "Bye, Mum, Da!" he called as he sprinted down the hall again.

Hamfast shook his head wearily.  Bell sighed and walked up behind him, resting her head on his arm.  "He'll know, soon enough," she whispered, kissing his shoulder.  "Then we'll be here for him."

Hamfast nodded, but for some reason found it difficult to speak.

~          ~          ~

Bilbo swung the door open with a flourish.  "Griffo!" he exclaimed.  "Lovely to see you again.  Ah, yes, yes, he's all ready—Frodo, lad!  Here, now, and don't be slow about it!"

Frodo slid from his chair and shuffled reluctantly towards the door. 

"-bit shy," Bilbo was saying, "but he's a delightful boy, make no mistake.  Ah, Frodo!"  He clapped his hand on his nephew's shoulder and drew him to the doorway.  Frodo, who'd been staring at his feet since he stood up, hesitantly raised his eyes.  He found a gruff-looking hobbit about Bilbo's age gazing back at him, a faint smile twinkling in his brown eyes.  

"Good day, there, lad," the hobbit said, extending a weathered hand.  

Frodo shook it a bit clumsily.  "Sir," he said, nodding as he let go.

Griffo's weathered old face broke into a toothy grin.  "Well, then, lad, let's be off!" he turned towards the gate, where Frodo saw a small pony-drawn cart standing in wait.  Three lads sat in the back, chewing on stalks of hay and gazing at Frodo in a slightly contemptuous manner.  One other lad, quite obviously a deal older than the rest, sat in the seat next to the driver's, and didn't even glance in Frodo's direction.  

The gnawing apprehension that had plagued him since the previous evening fluttered a little higher in Frodo's stomach as he followed Griffo Boffin towards the cart.  Suddenly the old hobbit slapped a hand to his head and stopped walking; Frodo barely avoided walking straight into him.  The lads in the cart snickered a little.

"Dear me, but I almost forgot!" he cried, turning to Frodo.  "Lad, these're my boys!  That there's me oldest, Mungo."  The hobbit in the front of the cart finally glanced downward, his hazel eyes flickering over Frodo quickly before he nodded once and returned his stony gaze to the horizon. 

Griffo didn't seem to notice.  "In the back there, that's Odo. And next to 'im, that's Rufus—and there in the back is their friend, Tolman Bracegirdle.  Go on then, lad, hop up!  We'd best be going if we're to get these things to market and set up in time!  The lads'll have to help me for a bit, but then Mungo and I'll run the stand and you can run about as you please."

He turned to Bilbo and waved.  "I'll have 'im back before sunset, eh Bilbo?"

Bilbo nodded, a smile on his face.  "Right, then, Griffo.  Have a good time, Frodo!"

With that, he turned and walked back into Bag End, whistling cheerfully to himself.  Frodo watched him disappear, feeling a desperate to sprint after him and beg him not to make him go, but he steadied himself.  Turning, he climbed onto the cart, sitting as close to the back as he could.  The hobbit lads watched him, stonily silent, and Frodo found himself staring at his feet and wishing with all his might he was with Sam instead.

~          ~          ~

Sam reached the back of the smial and threw the door open, causing it to bang against the wall on its rusty hinges in his haste.  He winced, hoping his father hadn't heard—he got in trouble often enough for doing that—but didn't stop to find out.  Heart pounding, he raced to the small gate and shoved it open, sprinting out into the road and staring up the hill towards Bag End—

--just in time to see a cart rounding the opposite side of the hill, headed towards the market.  Squinting, he saw four figures on the back of the cart—three burly lads, and there, towards the back: a dark-haired, slight figure, arms curled around his knees, his cheek resting against them—

Frodo.

*No.*

Sam stood frozen for a long moment, unable to think, unable to breathe.  The figure on the cart turned his head slightly, and for a moment, even at this distance, Sam could tell Frodo'd seen him.  Then the cart was gone, disappeared over the crest of the hill.  

*No!*

Sam suddenly remembered to breathe: a great heaving gasp as he dropped in disbelief to his knees, right in the middle of the road.  

*Frodo had gone…abandoned him…his Gaffer was right, he didn't care, he wasn't…*

"No!" 

And then Sam was sobbing, tears streaming down his red cheeks as he gasped desperately for air.  He leaned forward, arms curling around his belly as though he might stop the pain that seemed to well from so deep within him.  

*Frodo didn't care about him…*

A few moments later Sam heard the rusty hinges of the gate swing open; heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps.  Wordlessly, he was picked up, settled onto his father's strong arm while his head was drawn down to his shoulder.  Sam was too distraught to even protest, curling willingly into his father's embrace, the sobs still tearing through him.  

"There, lad," Hamfast whispered after a moment, rubbing his back.  Sam hiccoughed, then raised his tear-streaked face to meet his father's gaze.  

"Da…he didn't come," he whispered, his chin trembling as fresh tears swam in his wide brown eyes.  

"I know, lad," Hamfast whispered, finding no other words of comfort to give his son.

Sam gulped.  "But Da, why?  What did I do wrong?  I thought he…"

"'Tweren't your fault, lad," Hamfast said with a sigh. "Folk like you and me, we just weren't meant to go befriending our betters.  'Twas best you learnt that now, anyway.  You jest serve him as best you can, and he'll be a fine master to you one day, but lad…that's all.  That's all."

Sam whimpered, burying his face in his father's work shirt and trembling violently, but he didn't cry anymore.  

He would not cry over this again, he promised himself.  He mightn't understand, but if this was how it had to be, then so be it.  No sense in blubbering like a baby.  With that resolve, a sense of calm started to build itself within him, creating a wall around his wounded young heart.  

'I guess I weren't meant for friends, anyhow,' he thought to himself.  'It hurts too bad to lose them.  I'm better off with none at all.'  As he thought that, a calm numbness rose to take the place of the pain.  He sighed a little, feeling the previous day's joy drowning with the sorrow, but allowed the blessed oblivion to swell within him.  'Better this than the pain,' he reasoned.  

He sniffed once more, then leaned back again to meet his father's gaze.  "You can put me down now, Da," he said softly.

Hamfast complied, gazing at his son a trifle worriedly.  "Sam-lad, do you want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head, his golden curls bouncing in the early morning sun.  "No, sir.  It's like you said.  Him 'n me can't be friends nohow, so no use in worrying over it."

Hamfast patted his son on the shoulder.  "Good lad," he said, though it held little conviction; in truth, he was quite concerned at the lad's sudden detachment.  

Sam gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.  "If it's okay, I'm going to go start my chores now."

Hamfast nodded, returning the smile with a tinge of concern.  "Aye…go do that, then, Sam," he said, ruffling his son's curls.  Sam nodded once respectfully and turned away, quickly vanishing around the house towards the gardens.  

Hamfast watched him go, a nameless fear and guilt gnawing unexpectedly at his heart. 

*Oh, Lady…what have I done?* he wondered.


	9. The Boffins

A/n:  Hooray for reviews!!!  *hugs her reviewers*  Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!  :)

*          *          *

Frodo trudged up the path towards Bag End wearily, passing a hand over his brow, which was covered in sweat despite the cool evening breeze.

*What was he going to tell Bilbo?*

The day had gone even worse than he'd feared.  After their condescending silence, which had lasted the entire trip to the market and half-way through the setting up of Griffo's stand, Odo had finally spoken to him.

"My aunt says all Bucklanders are strange folk," he declared once his father was out of earshot.  "You strange, Bucklander?"

What was he supposed to say to that?

He'd stood in a stunned stupor, and Odo had continued, while giving him a once-over: "You certainly look it.  Don't you ever eat?  Or can't they afford food in Brandy Hall?  Too many lads and lasses running amok, no doubt."

Rufus and Tolman and appeared behind Odo, snickering.  Frodo looked down, his ears burning.  "I eat," he said quietly.  

However, unlike Bilbo, they hadn't let it go at that.

"You sure?" Rufus had smirked, reaching out and jabbing Frodo in the ribs with one finger.  "More skin on a wright than you, lad."

Frodo bristled, but didn't rise to the bait.  The last thing he needed was to start a fight with these lads—they were all at least twice his size, and could easily snap him in two if they took a mind.  Instead he'd merely shrugged, hoping they would drop the subject and go back to ignoring him.

"Saw him yesterday," Tolman suddenly piped up.  "He was with that Gamgee lad."

Odo turned to him.  "The little 'un?"

Tolman nodded.

Odo, quite obviously the leader of the triad, turned back to Frodo, a scornful expression on his face.  

"That so, eh?" he said, leaning back to study Frodo again.  "Aye, that's fitting.  He oughtn't be mixing with anything above the gardening staff."

"And just what's wrong with them, may I ask?" Frodo said, his voice growing dangerous.  A small corner of his mind begged him to back down, but he had had enough of this contemptuous—

"If you don't even know, you've proven my point," Odo said, matching Frodo's tone and stepping forward, his hands curling into fists.  "And if you--,"

"Ah, there you are, lads!"  From out of nowhere, Griffo Boffin appeared, beaming at the lads.  Frodo took a hasty step backwards, and Odo's fists quickly uncurled.  "Now then, why don't you go get yourselves something to eat?  I know Molly Proudfoot's got her turnovers always fresh-baked this time of year."  He beamed, jingling a coin purse at them.  "It's on me."

Odo accepted the pouch, bowing to his father with a sickeningly polite "Thank you."  Griffo beamed again, then turned away, ruffling Frodo's hair.  "Show 'im the ways of the place, then!" he said.  "And take care!"

Odo turned back towards Frodo, but had apparently lost interest in picking a fight.  "Well, Bucklander, come on then," he growled.  "It's no use trying to lose you, Da'll have my hide.  Just keep up, okay?  Last thing I need's you gettin' lost."

He made a derisive sounding noise in the back of his throat, then turned and scampered away, the others in tow.  Frodo followed, staying only close enough to see where they had gone.  They let him alone for the better part of the morning, and he was able to peruse the various stands at his leisure as they stuffed themselves with apple and cherry tarts, seedcakes, and blackberry cobbler.  They hadn't offered him any, but it was of little consequence: watching them greedily gorge themselves had taken away any appetite he'd managed to work up.  At elevenses he'd bought himself a loaf of bread from the baker as well as some plums with a little pocket change he'd found in his trousers—strategically placed by Bilbo, no doubt.  By high noon, when they'd still not bothered approaching him again, he began to think this day might not be turning out so badly after all.  However, right around one o'clock they appeared again, apparently bored with the entertainments of the market and intent on amusing themselves by picking on him again.

He'd been standing at one of the Bree-hobbit's stands, admiring the beautiful and strange carvings that lined the cart, when he became aware of a presence behind him.  Turning, he'd barely stopped himself from groaning out loud at the sight of Odo.

"Yes?" he asked coolly, hoping they'd merely come to fetch him to return home.  He knew it was too early for that, but he couldn't help wish.

"An' jest what do you mean by that tone, eh?" Odo'd asked, stepping forward.  Frodo was reminded again of just how much smaller he was than the huge lad. 

"Nothing," he'd said sullenly, backing away.  "I just wondered what you wanted."

"I still don't like your tone, boy," Odo growled.  "All high and mighty, like you were better than the likes of us.  Hanging around them books all day like you were something else.  As though you could read them anyway."

"I can," Frodo said without thinking, then immediately wished he hadn't.  He felt himself grow flushed as Odo sneered.  

"Yeah, right," he said.  "Prove it."  He grabbed a bound journal from one of the stands and shoved it in Frodo's face.  "What's it say?"

Frodo took it gingerly and flipped it open, desperately searching for a way out of the situation.  He glanced at the scrawled writing on the pages and made a quick decision.  "I can't read it," he said.  "It's written in Elvish, not the Common Tongue."

He realized his mistake as soon as he spoke.  Odo flushed bright red.  "Oh, so you know Elvish, do you?"

"No!" Frodo stammered.  "I said, I *can't* read it—,"

"But you recognized it right enough," he shot back.  "Don't lie to me, Bucklander."

Frodo gritted his teeth.  "I know a little," he murmured.  "But not enough to read this."

Odo snatched the journal from him and flung it back onto the stand.  "Figures," he sneered again, though it wasn't without a flush of embarrassment that Frodo did indeed know how to read, and could do it in more than one language.  "Bucklanders were always the queer sort.  I mean, look at his parents."  He turned to the others.  "They *drowned*.  Like any respectable hobbit would go *boating*."  He turned to Frodo again, the confidence returning.  "Mungo says your pa pushed your ma in, and she drug him down after her."

Odo might have been a brute and built like an ox, but even a brute can be taken by surprise.  And surprised Odo was when Frodo launched himself at him with a furious cry.  Surprised enough that he stumbled and ended up landing on his backside as Frodo pummeled him again and again with all his strength.

"Take that back!" Frodo yelled, his voice breaking as his fury mingled with his grief.

Odo, meanwhile, had recovered some of his wits, and grabbed Frodo's arm, twisting it aside painfully.  Frodo gasped, writhing as he tried to escape the hobbit's grip.  Odo quickly had the upper hand, pinning Frodo to the ground with his sturdy weight and delivering blow after blow at Frodo's face.  Being the more agile of the two, Frodo managed to escape the better part of them, but one did graze his neck painfully, hard enough to leave a bruise.  He finally managed to writhe his way out from under the larger hobbit, but Odo grabbed his ankle as he tried to retreat, causing Frodo to fall onto his face.  He rolled over, gasping—the fall had knocked the wind from him.  Odo drew his fist back and snarled, "You're in for it now, Bucklander."  But before the blow could fall, a hand reached out and caught the hobbit's upraised arm.

"ODO BOFFIN!"

Frodo gazed up into the shocked and furious face of Griffo Boffin, watching as Odo paled visibly.

"Yes sir!" he squeaked, jumping up and pulling Frodo to his feet.  "We was…we was jest…"  
"Don't tell me what you were JEST!" Griffo roared.  "I saw plain enough!  Acting like some lad that weren't raised by me, beating up on 'im jest because he's smaller than you!"  Griffo's face was going purple in his fury.  "I told you to show him the way of the place!  Is this how you want him to think of Hobbiton folk?"

Frodo, who'd been inching away during the scolding, suddenly turned and broke through the crowd that had gathered, sprinting away as quickly as he could.  He faintly heard Griffo calling after him, but he didn't turn.  Tears were streaming from his face, and his arm and neck ached something fierce.  He ran, down the path, away from the market, back towards Bag End.  He ran until he could run no more, until his lungs felt like they would burst or catch on fire, which ever came first.  By then he was a safe distance from the market, and quite alone.  He collapsed on the side of the road, chest heaving, breath coming in ragged sobs.  

*Oh, I don't belong here… not at all.  I'll never fit in…*

He bowed his head, burying his face in his hands as fresh sobs washed over him.  

It was a long time before he stood and began walking back towards Bag End.

~          ~          ~

Now, late in the evening, he continued his lonely trek toward Bag End, steps slowing as his nerves began to jangle.  He'd managed to avoid being seen, hiding in the bushes alongside the road whenever he heard anyone approaching, but in truth the only person he was truly nervous about facing was his uncle.  What would Bilbo think of him, getting into a fight on his second day at Bag End?  Would he send him back to Brandy Hall, convinced he was too much trouble to deal with?  Frodo desperately prayed he would not—despite today's events he didn't want to return to Buckland.  Though he knew it wasn't really their fault, he always felt—well, a *burden* to his relatives there.  And Brandy Hall was so *huge*…he wasn't really ignored, per say, but just…overlooked.  And that hurt just as bad, if not worse: at least if you're being ignored someone's taking enough notice of you to ignore you in the first place.  But Bilbo…Bilbo had seemed to genuinely care for Frodo, and Frodo had reveled in the comfort of that feeling.  Finally, after years of loneliness, someone was going to take care of him…

*I've probably ruined that now,* Frodo thought miserably, wiping away his fresh tears and wincing at the pain that shot through his twisted arm as he did so.  He looked up to find himself standing at Bag End's gates—too soon, far sooner than he'd hoped.  Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the gate—

—only to find himself suddenly caught in a crushing embrace as Bilbo barreled out of the large green door and hurled himself at his nephew.

"Frodo, Frodo!" Bilbo cried, and to Frodo's horror he realized his uncle was sobbing.  "Oh, lad, are you all right?  You're not hurt, are you?  Let me see…"

He pulled back and his worried eyes scanned Frodo tearfully, taking in the mussed hair, the dirt and tear streaked face, the deep purple bruise swelling on his neck.

"Oh, my lad," he whispered, pulling Frodo back into his arms.  Frodo was bewildered.  He'd thought Bilbo would be angry, but while the hobbit was certainly emotional, anger didn't seem to be one of those emotions.

"Uncle?" he asked.  "What's wrong?"

Bilbo pulled back, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"Griffo was here earlier," he said.  "He said you'd been in a fight and run off, and he couldn't find you…I was so worried you'd been seriously hurt, or that you'd gotten lost…"

He broke down again.  Frodo, stunned but more than a little relieved that Bilbo didn't seem to be angry with him, stepped back into his uncle's embrace, allowing himself to bask in the safety and comfort it provided.  Bilbo wrapped his arms around him willingly, and for several long moments they stood silently together in the starlit garden.  Then Bilbo finally pulled away.

"Come lad, we must get you inside, tend to this bruise…are you hurt otherwise?"

"My arm's sore," Frodo admitted as they made their way back into the lit hole.  "Odo twisted it to get me to stop hitting him."

Bilbo turned and looked at Frodo in surprise.  "You started the fight?  I thought you had more sense than that, lad."  

He sounded more surprised than angry, so Frodo ventured, "Well, he deserved it.  He said…my parents…"  Frodo choked up, unable to repeat the accusation that had wounded him worse than any blow ever could.  

Fortunately, Bilbo let it slide.  "Well, then, let's take a look," he said as they stepped into Bag End, pulling the door shut behind him and turning back towards Frodo.  Frodo allowed his uncle to assist him in unbuttoning his shirt, wincing as he pulled the sleeve from the offended arm.

A low whistle made him look at his Uncle sharply.  Bilbo was studying the limb, his lips pursed, his eyes dark and worried.  "Frodo, lad, that's the nicest sprain I've ever seen," he said, then turned Frodo so his arm was more in the light.  Frodo gasped at the sight of the dark angry bruises that snaked up the pale skin, making it swell to twice it's normal size.  Bilbo shook his head.  

"Well, he did a number on you, that's for certain," he said, releasing Frodo's arm and standing up.  "I'll have to get some balm tomorrow.  For tonight we'll keep it cool.  I'll get some rags wet, there's a vat of spring water out back that should be cold enough."

He stood to go, but the amazed look on Frodo's face stopped him.

"Lad?" he asked, concerned.  "What is it?"

Frodo bit his lip.  "You're…I mean…you're not angry at me?"  

Bilbo's frown deepened.  "Angry?  For what?  Defending your parents?  Showing courage even though those lads were twice your size?  Why should that make me angry?"

Frodo swallowed, tears of gratitude welling in his eyes.  "So…you're not going to send me back to Brandy Hall?" he whispered.

Bilbo's eyes softened and he knelt, taking Frodo into his arms again.  

"Oh, lad, of course not," he whispered, running his hands up Frodo's back as Frodo cried into his shoulder.  "You needn't ever worry yourself about that, dear Frodo.  There's nothing you could do that would make me send you away.  I love you, my dear boy, and that's not conditional."

Frodo sniffed, and his reply was the barest whisper: "Promise?"

Bilbo's heart clenched painfully in his chest.  How had this child survived so long, always feeling this neglected?  He'd grown up thinking love was something you had to earn…Bilbo tightened his grip, the answer coming almost as soon as the question had been formed in his mind.  Frodo'd survived because he was strong—he was one of the strongest souls Bilbo had ever seen.  There was an inner courage and a beauty in him that shone through so brightly that sometimes it was almost a visible light.  There was a spark in his dark blue eyes, so much wiser than his years; so young, and yet sometimes so *old* at the same time… Bilbo sighed, resting his cheek against Frodo's ebony curls. He didn't know why he'd been chosen to care for such a wondrous soul, but he vowed then and there he would do his very best.

"Yes, lad," he whispered.  "I promise."

They stayed like that for several moments longer, until Frodo finally said, "Uncle?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too."  

Bilbo tightened his embrace, holding the lad as hard as he could.  Frodo returned the embrace with vigor for a moment, then said, "Uncle?"

"Yes?"

A gasping laugh.  "You're crushing me!"

Bilbo pulled away quickly as they both began laughing and the moment passed.  "Sorry, lad!" he said.  "I suppose even an old hobbit has some strength left in him, eh?"  Frodo grinned, but it was laced with more than mirth—Bilbo saw, shining clearly, the love and adoration Frodo held for him.  It threatened to overwhelm him, and for a moment he very nearly pulled Frodo back into his arms.

Instead, he stood and turned towards the kitchen.

"Now, about those rags…"

*          *          *

a/n: It has come to my attention that my hobbits are all Canadian.  At the end of every question they go, "Eh?"  :D  *sigh*  Ah well.  Oh, and Sangwa: SEEDCAKE!!!!!  :)    


	10. Misunderstandings

a/n:  Hey all!!  Wow, so many reviews!!  *sighs happily*  They brighten my day, they really do.  Always.  *hugs all reviewers*  Yay!!  Okay, here we go—next chapter!  

~          ~          ~

Bilbo was gone when Frodo awoke the next morning, a note on the table saying he'd gone to market to get some salve for Frodo's arm.  Frodo sighed gratefully; his arm had grown rather stiff during the course of the night, and the bruises were beginning to turn black. 

*Well,* he thought in an attempt to turn his attention from the dull throbbing, *at least now I'll be able to stay around Bag End.*

The sounds of voices drifted in from outside the window, making Frodo perk up.  Sam!

He hurried to the window and smiled as he saw it was indeed the young gardener, and Hamfast as well.  They were busy pruning a rosebush as Hamfast explained to Sam the necessity for cutting some of the buds so others could grow.  Frodo's smile broadened as he watched them work for a moment, his eyes distant as he recalled Odo's disparaging remark about the Gamgees.  He smirked.  *They're better folk than you can ever hope to be,* he though smugly as he gingerly shifted his arm.  

He decided not to bother them for now, but returned to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat.  He'd go find Sam later, when his father wasn't teaching him, and apologize for the previous morning.

Humming lightly, eagerly anticipating a much more pleasant day than yesterday, Frodo walked back to the kitchen.

~          ~          ~

By midmorning, Hamfast Gamgee was abandoning trepidation and moving onto downright worry about his son.

Samwise, usually so free with his radiant smile and buoyant personality, had been silent all morning, speaking politely when he was spoken to, doing all he was told, and all the while not really *there* while he was doing it.  Hamfast had seen the lad sulking before, but this…this went beyond sulking.  This was…this was downright frightening.

"Well, lad," he said, straightening before the rosebush, "I'd say we're done with this here.  Why don't you start turning up that patch around back and I'll trim the lawn?"

"Yes, Dad," Sam said automatically, standing and picking up his small spade (a gift from Mr. Bilbo).  As he turned to go, Hamfast called hesitantly, "Oh, and Sam?"

Sam turned around and gazed at him expectantly, his once-lively brown eyes startlingly dull.  "Yes, sir?"

Hamfast paused, considering his words carefully, then said, "You…you know you can talk to me if you want to."

Sam considered him for a moment, then nodded slowly.  "Yes, sir."

Hamfast sighed.  "All right then, on with you," he said, waving his son away with a hand.  "Work won't do itself, I suppose, so we'd best get back to it."

Sam nodded and turned away.  Hamfast watched him go, noting the heavy, dull way he walked, not his usually springy self at all.  He sighed as Sam disappeared around the corner, bringing one gnarled hand to his brow and rubbing his eyes.  

"You did the right thing," he told himself again.  "He had to know."

Still, as he turned to pick up his clippers, he couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't done the right thing at all.

~          ~          ~

Sam knew his father was worried for him.  He'd felt it all morning, the way he kept turning to watch him out of the corner of his eye, his brow drawn in that look he got when he felt he was forgetting something but couldn't remember what.  His mother was worried, too; she'd been almost too cheerful at breakfast, constantly asking about what gardening they planned to do today or if Sam wouldn't like another sweet roll.  Sam declined, barely able to eat even half of his first, but he didn't miss the concerned look she gave his father as he picked at it.

He knew he should feel guilty for making his parents worry.  He knew he should feel…well, a lot more than he felt now.  Truth was, he didn't feel much of anything.  The numbness that had prevailed the day before lingered still, and to be honest he was glad of it.  It was better than feeling the pain.  Even if it meant he couldn't feel happy either.  

He started as he realized someone was standing behind him.  Spinning quickly, he gasped and very nearly dropped his spade when he saw who it was.

"Hullo there, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard.  "Hullo, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo stood before him, wearing long sleeves despite the unusual heat of the day, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  The collar of his shirt was standing up on one side, giving him a strangely lopsided look Sam would have found funny if he'd been able to smile.  Instead he merely watched as the older hobbit gave him a hesitant smile.

"What are you working on there?"

Sam didn't smile back.  "Just turnin' over some ground, sir," he said quietly.  "Getting it 

ready for planting."

"Planting what?"

Sam shrugged half-heartedly.

Frodo watched him for a moment, his face expectant, but then seemed to realize Sam wasn't going to say anything more.  He shuffled and cleared his throat, then stammered, "Listen, Sam…about yesterday…"

He looked at a loss, and Sam felt a sudden dreadful certainty that Frodo was going to try and explain class to him.  A sickening drop in the pit of his stomach told him he wasn't quite past all emotion after all, at least not where Frodo was concerned.  

"It's okay, sir," he said quickly.  He couldn't, he *couldn't* hear it from Frodo.  It would hurt too much.  "I understand."

Frodo looked surprised.  "You do?"

Sam nodded.  "Yes, sir.  Me Gaffer…he explained it to me."

Frodo looked at him carefully.  "So…you're not angry?"

Sam shook his head.  "No, sir," he said.  "I'm…I'm not angry at you.  'Tweren't your fault."

Frodo looked relieved.  "Oh, good," he said, smiling.  "I was a bit worried you wouldn't understand."

Sam shook his head, and murmured, "No, I…I do…" but then had to turn away; suddenly Frodo's smile, his very presence, was bringing the pain back, and he couldn't bear the look of relieved joy in the older hobbit's face.

He started to return to his work, but as Frodo didn't move away he had to put down the spade, his fingers shaking too badly grip it properly.  He waited a moment, but when it didn't seem Frodo was going to leave he said "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Frodo?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Frodo said.  He stepped around in front of Sam and knelt, looking at the soil where Sam was digging.  He was awkward with his right arm, Sam noticed, holding it stiffly out of the way as he regained his balance from his crouched position.  Before he could wonder what that was about, however, Frodo looked up at him and spoke.

"I'd still like to see your flower garden, though, if you want to show me," he said, offering a small smile.  

Sam felt his throat suddenly constrict; the kindness in Frodo's voice was piercing his defenses, methodically pulling down the layer of apathy he'd built around his wounded heart.  

"N…no, sir, it's okay," he whispered.  "You don't have to…bother about me."

Frodo's smile vanished in an instant, and his brow furrowed.  "What do you mean?"

Sam stood quickly and turned away so Frodo wouldn't see the way his lip was beginning to tremble, or the way a fine sheen of tears misted over his eyes.  "It's just…I…you don't…it's nothing, sir, really, just a bunch of flowers," he said.  "Nowt like it is up here, nohow.  It's nothing special."

Frodo said, "But—"

"Sir, I really ought to go find my Gaffer now," Sam said, cutting him off and keeping his voice carefully level.  "I'll see you later."

With that he took off at a near run back around the smial, leaving his spade in the soil and a very bewildered and stung Frodo staring after him, wondering what he'd done.

~          ~          ~

Sam didn't go to his Gaffer.  In fact, he didn't even stay at Bag End.  He ran until he found himself outside his own home, his breath heaving as he fought back his sobs.  

*Oh, you fool!* he berated himself mentally.  *You idiot, Samwise Gamgee!  Going back like you thought you could face him…you should have known better…*

He stopped at his door, gazing at it a moment before reaching a decision and heading instead out back, towards his garden.  Once there, he collapsed, curling up on his side and gasping with emotion.  He felt a few tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes, but forced them back.  He would *not* cry again, he simply would *not*--

"Sam?"

He snapped his head around and saw his mother standing over him, worry and pity shining in her eyes.  He crumbled then, his face scrunching with emotion as he reached for her.  

"Oh, darling," she whispered as she pulled him up into her arms much as his father had the day before.  Sam snuggled close, burying his face into the shoulder of her cotton dress and shaking with violent, though silent sobs.  "It's okay, sweetheart.  It'll be okay."

When Sam had calmed down she set him on his feet, then stood back and considered him thoughtfully.

"Why don't you come inside and help me and the girls with the pies?" she said.  "I'm sure they'd love to have your company, and we could certainly use someone to test my new recipe on…"

Sam gave her what passed as a smile and nodded.  She smiled back, ruffling his hair, and knelt before him. 

"We shouldn't've made you go back," she said, almost to herself, as she brushed at the dirt on Sam's face.  "I'll talk to your father tonight and see if he can set you to work here.  Then, once you've been trained to his liking, you can start working for the Widow.  How's that, Sam?"

Sam drew a shaky breath.  "Yes, Mama," he whispered.  As much as the idea of abandoning Bag End hurt, it wasn't as bad as the thought of having to face Frodo every day, knowing…

"Fine then," she said, smiling and straightening.  "Come along, lad.  Let's go inside."

Sam nodded mutely, and followed her through the door, leaving his dreams in a broken heap in the dirt behind him.

~          ~          ~

Frodo stood for a long time, staring at the freshly-turned soil and the abandoned spade.

*What did I do?*

He fingered his upturned collar, which hid the purple-black bruise from the day before quite nicely, and considered.  Sam had said he wasn't angry, but it was clear to see things weren't the same as they had been two days before.  Something had gone wrong…and Sam *was* upset with him, that was clear enough.  He hadn't seemed angry, though; when he'd said he wasn't Frodo could tell he meant it.  So it was something else…

*Maybe he just doesn't want to be friends.*

The thought came with such sudden force and clarity that Frodo's fingers tightened on his shirt, the tips brushing against his bruise and making him flinch slightly.

Was that it, then?  He was too much older…too strange, perhaps?  Why would Sam want to be around someone fifteen years his senior, anyway?  

Frodo sighed and let his hand drop back to his side.  That was it, then, he thought.  It had to be.  Why else would Sam be so suddenly distant?  

There was no other reason, and Frodo knew it.  He swallowed hard against the sudden lump constricting his throat, and brushed awkwardly at his eyes.  So he was once again friendless, all alone in this new place.  Sam didn't like him, the Boffins deplored him, and no doubt the news of his fight would make any other children wary of him as well.  So…that was it.  He was alone.

He sighed again, shakier this time, and bowed his head wearily.  Thought it was barely noon he suddenly felt strangely, achingly tired.  Heart thumping painfully in his chest, he turned and walked slowly, sorrowfully back into Bag End.

*          *          *

a/n:  "He crumbled then, his face scrunching with emotion as he reached for her."  I stared at that sentence for like twenty minutes, trying to come up with a better way of describing it, but this is the best that happened.   You know how when little kids are about to cry they kinda…well, scrunch up their faces (actually, anyone who's about to cry, I think…)?  You know what I mean?  *sighs*  Well, hopefully…

Okay!  Poor lads.  :(  *hugs them*  Things are going to start really picking up in another chapter or two—for those of you getting bored.  More action!  :)  LoL Sorry—anyway, thanks again for all the reviews!  I just can't get enough of them!    


	11. Lost

a/n:  Ai, what a ridiculous gap between postings!!  *sighs*  I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!!  I know I promised I wouldn't do this to you guys!!  :(  But hopefully the length of this chapter'll make up for that a little…maybe…

*          *          *

As the weeks passed, things between Frodo and Sam went from bad to worse.  

Sam began staying at home, tending to his own family's garden completely, leaving Hamfast free to spend his time at Bag End.  Frodo hardly ever saw the lad; when he did it was only in passing, and Sam would scarcely look at him.  Frodo grew withdrawn, hurt by Sam's complete rejection of him, and began to stay in Bag End day in and day out, devoting himself entirely to his studies.  Bilbo had to admit he was a fast learner; he'd already mastered the common tongue, having had some previous schooling in Brandy Hall, and was quickly learning to decipher Elvish.  He was quite natural at it, Bilbo marveled.  

But despite this, he could see Frodo was not happy.  He was too quiet, too solemn, smiling only occasionally and laughing even less.  He avoided going outside, wishing to avoid prying eyes or a chance encounter with Sam (which had become simply too painful to endure, though Bilbo wasn't aware of this).  

Bilbo sighed, leaning back as he studied Frodo, who was poring over a translation Bilbo was working on. It wasn't healthy, he decided, taking in Frodo's thinness and pallor.  He should be outside, building up some muscle on that too-thin frame, exposing that pale skin to a little sun once in a while.  He frowned as Frodo muttered something and glanced back over the pages he'd just read. 

"Uncle," he said, "I believe this translation may be incorrect; it doesn't fit with the one you had previously."

"Look at the context, Frodo-lad," Bilbo said quietly after glancing at the text.  

Frodo glanced back at the previous stanza, and after a moment his expression cleared.  "I see," he said, then was silent.  

Bilbo frowned again, then reached a decision.

"Lad," he said, "I want you to go for a walk.  Take a picnic; take a book if you must.  But you really need to get out of Bag End for a while."

Frodo jerked his head up quickly, an expression near to panic in his eyes, and for a moment Bilbo almost withdrew his command; however, the moment passed and Bilbo's resolve strengthened.  No lad should be that afraid of going outside for a bit.

"No arguments, lad," he said.  "This isn't healthy.  You sit up here all day, brooding, with a face sour enough to curdle milk.  Now"—he held up his hand to forestall any protests—"I know your first attempt at Hobbiton didn't go so well, but lad, you really ought to give it another go.  Won't do you no good to stay locked up here with me all your life, now will it?"

Frodo closed his mouth, which had opened on several possible protests, realizing none would do him any good.  He sighed and lowered his head.  He'd know all along, really, that he wouldn't be able to avoid this forever; Bilbo was lenient enough, but he'd been sulking—yes, sulking, Frodo admitted to himself—around Bag End for nearly three weeks now.  Even Bilbo's patience had an end.

"Yes, Uncle," he said quietly, still staring at the table top.

Bilbo chuckled.  "Now, then, lad," he admonished lightly, "It's not as though I asked you climb the Misty Mountains or anything.  Just take a stroll, that's all!  Go explore some of the land about here.  You've not seen Sam in a while, why not invite him?"

Frodo's head snapped up, and this time the panic was definite.  "Oh, Bilbo, I…I don't think that's a good idea," he said, his voice trembling despite himself.  

Bilbo frowned.  "And whyever not?" he said.  "You two seemed to get on well enough the first day you met."

Frodo looked down, one hand picking absently at the corner of his parchment.  "It's just…he…well, I don't think he likes me much."

Bilbo huffed.  "Sam?" he waved his hand.  "Nonsense.  Sam likes everyone.  Just go on down there and"—

"No!" 

Bilbo jumped and stared at his cousin.  Frodo was wide-eyed, tears shining clearly over the blue of his irises.  He swallowed, looking slightly apologetic at his outburst, then said, "Bilbo…please.  I can't.  He really…he really doesn't like me much, I know that, and I just…" he swallowed again and looked away.  "I really don't want to put him in any awkward positions, is all."

Bilbo was perplexed, but the silent plea in Frodo's eyes was enough to make him keep his own silence.  

"Very well, then, lad," he sighed, tapping his pipe against the silver ash-tray sitting on his desk.  "Go alone.  But I do want you to go, is that clear?  Today.  Take a luncheon."  

Frodo nodded.  "Yes, sir," he said, then stood and walked out of the study.

Bilbo sighed and shook his head.  

"Drogo," he muttered, "that lad of yours is as stubborn as you ever were, and make no mistake."

~          ~          ~

Sam sat back in the garden with a sigh, his gaze traveling up the path towards Bag End as it had a tendency to do these days.  

Three weeks.  He couldn't believe it had only been three weeks.  It felt like an eternity.  He missed Bag End, he missed spending so much time with his Gaffer, and he missed Frodo.  *Mr.* Frodo, he corrected himself, but instead of making him feel bitter, the thought only made him feel sad.  Oh, how he *wished*--

His thoughts were interrupted when his mother appeared in the doorway, waving him inside for lunch.  He stood and brushed the dirt from his trousers, then walked towards the door.  He paused, however, when he noticed something from the corner of his eye.  Turning, he felt his heart lurch when he realized it was Frodo; the hobbit was making his way down the hill towards the woods, a basket in one hand, a book in the other.  His head was bowed, and even from this distance Sam could tell he'd grown unnaturally thin—even more so than before.  His skin held a sickly white hue that went beyond pale and now bordered on transparent.  Sam felt his heart clench at the way Frodo's shoulders slumped, his head dropped down to his chest, his steps dragging.  He forced himself to look away, brushing hastily at his tears.  Oh, all he wanted was to run over to the older hobbit and throw his arms around him, tell him everything would be okay…but he couldn't.  He couldn't.  Frodo had made it quite clear that while he and Sam could be casual acquaintances, they simply couldn't be friends.

He glanced back towards the hill, but Frodo was already gone.  Lowering his head with a sigh, Sam turned and walked into the smial.

~          ~          ~

The glade was perfect: hidden from sight, far from the road (or anything else, for that matter), shady and cool.  The Brandywine bubbled along happily next to a large, flat, moss-covered stone, which lay dappled in sunlight.  Frodo set his basket down with a sigh.  This would do, he decided, smiling a little for the first time in days.  Yes, it would do quite nicely.  

He sat down and pulled out a slice of bread as he opened his book.  Placing a bit of cheese on the bread and taking a bite, he began to read.  He was soon absorbed, the cool breeze lifting his dark curls gently, the shadows lengthening as the noontime sun lowered into late afternoon.  Frodo read on, snacking from the picnic basket and entirely caught up in the story of Elves and love and war.  Eventually, feeling pleasantly full and comfortably warm, he found himself drowsing; deciding to nap for a few minutes before heading back home he stretched out on the rock and was soon fast asleep.

~          ~          ~

Bilbo glanced out the window for what must have been the thirtieth time, the gnawing unease in his gut turning to downright worry as he watched the storm clouds building in the east.  The wind had picked up, and there was a definite chill to it.  His creaking joints warned of a storm, and a good one at that, seemingly.  He frowned again.  Where was Frodo?

~          ~          ~

"Samwise?"

Sam glanced up from the dishes he'd been washing along with his sister Daisy.  "Yes, mum?" 

His mother was standing before him, her hands on her hips as she gazed out the door with a frown on her face.  After a moment she turned to him.  "Run along up to Bag End and see if you can't help your father finish up, won't you?  I want him home before this storm hits.  It's going to be a nice one, to be sure."

Sam felt the color drain from his face.  "But Mum…" he whispered, his hands trembling as he clutched the plate he'd been washing to his chest.

She turned to him, her face stern.  "No buts, lad," she said.  "It's high time you faced up to that Mr. Frodo, anyhow.  No sense in hiding from him forever.  It won't kill you.  Besides, your father won't come home until his work's done and you're the only one who can help him finish with that.  Now run along!"

Sam saw it would be no use arguing.  He set the plate down with a small sigh, grabbed the cloak his mother was holding out for him, and stepped into the chilled evening breeze.

~          ~          ~

Hamfast glanced up as his master walked out into the garden.

"Hullo Mr. Bilbo," he said, nodding politely.  Bilbo glanced at him, and gave the barest flicker of a smile, but his eyes were distant as he peered at the line of trees at the edge of the fields behind Bagshot Row.  Hamfast watched him a moment, waiting; Bilbo seemed to be searching for something.

"Master Bilbo?" 

Bilbo started, then looked down.  "Hamfast…you haven't seen Frodo this afternoon, have you?" 

Hamfast frowned.  "Nay, lad, not since he left a'fore noon," he replied.  His frown deepened.  "He's not come back?"

Bilbo shook his head, his gaze returning to the line of the trees.  "No," he whispered, his voice shaking with worry as he glanced at the darkening sky.  "He hasn't…"

~          ~          ~

Sam entered Bag End's gardens reluctantly, pulling the gate shut as quietly as he could.  With any luck, he'd be in and out before Frodo noticed he was here…

He paused, however, when he heard the sounds of voices.  Ducking quickly behind a hedge, he realized it was his father, and Mr. Bilbo.  Frowning at the tone of their voices, he crept closer, straining to hear.

"He's been gone all day, then?" his father was saying.  "Do you know which way he went?"

Bilbo's reply sounded strained.  "I don't know for certain.  He said he was going to go into the woods, but"—there was a pause; peering through the leaves Sam saw Bilbo make a sweeping gesture with his arm—"that was hours ago, he could be *anywhere*!"

Sam's frown deepened.  What was going on?  Something serious, from the sounds of it…

"And Frodo's hardly left Bag End since he's been here," Bilbo continued, his voice sounding on the verge of breaking in his panic.  "'Twould be so easy for him to get lost…especially…oh, I *told* him to take Sam…!"

Sam swallowed, startled, alarmed and stung at Bilbo's words.  So Frodo had gone for a walk, and hadn't come back…and had obviously refused to take Sam along.  He hung his head.  No surprise there…

"I told him," Bilbo was saying.  "He doesn't know the area, he could be anywhere!  And it's getting dark, and with this storm and all…"

Sam didn't wait around to hear the rest.  All his shyness and the hurt that accompanied the thought of Frodo vanished in light of his concern for the older lad.  He was lost, and a storm was brewing.  Sam clenched his jaw stubbornly.   Whether he wanted it or not, Frodo *needed* Sam's help.  Turning away quickly, he hurried back out of the gate and around towards the forest, the only thought in his mind to find him before it was too late…

~          ~          ~

Hamfast listened to his master's words with increasing alarm.  

"Why didn't he want to take Sam?" he wondered.  "The lad wouldn't a'got lost, that's true enough…"

Bilbo shook his head.  "He has some notion in his head that Sam doesn't like him," he said.  "I told him that was foolish, but he was so upset about it I didn't press the issue."  He suddenly frowned, and looked at Hamfast.  "Do you know anything about it?  They didn't have a fight, did they?  They seemed to be getting on so well."

Hamfast sighed.  "Nay, sir, he just…well, he took it as a bit of a shock, begging your pardon, when he…when Frodo went off with the Boffin lads, is all.  Had some notion of he and Mr. Frodo being best friends…don't worry, I corrected him of that right quickly."

Bilbo looked confused.  "You…corrected him?" he said.  "How?  I mean, why?  About what?"

Hamfast frowned.  "Well, sir, he had no right to be makin' claims about your heir like that," he said.  "He just needed to learn his place, is all.  Don't worry, I made it perfectly clear—"

"His place?" Bilbo interrupted.  "What does his place have to do with anything?  Is there a law that says gardeners can't be friends with gentlehobbits?"  His tone had dropped, and he was looking pointedly at the now-sputtering Hamfast.  "Surely you know," Bilbo continued, "that I consider you a friend?"

"But…but sir…!"

Bilbo sighed and shook his head.  "You're a practical hobbit, Hamfast Gamgee," Bilbo said.  "But sometimes I think you take it to an extreme.  But that doesn't solve the current problem of finding Frodo.  Where do you think he could have gone?"

Hamfast frowned, still a little shaken at Bilbo's words but forcing himself not to think on it.  

"Well, let's see…He's likely still on this side of the Brandywine, at least—he had a book with him, I don't think he could have crossed the river without risking damage to it, and he certainly wouldn't have left it behind."

Bilbo nodded eagerly.  "Yes, yes!" he said.  "That cuts the wood in half, at least!"

"And that area yon is all thorns and brambles," Ham continued, pointing.  "He'd never have gotten through there, not without a good pair o' shears and a lot of time on his hands."

Bilbo clapped.  "Yes!  Okay.  So he must be somewhere over there, in the eastern part of the wood."  He turned and hurried towards the door.  "I'd best be getting my cloak," he said.  "I've got to go find him."

"Wait a moment!" Hamfast cried, leaping to his feet.  Bilbo turned and gazed at him questioningly.

"Yes?"

Hamfast set his jaw.  "You're not going alone, surely?"  

Bilbo tilted his head.  "Well, yes…I don't have time to round up a search party—"

"Then I'm going with you," the gardener declared.  "And I'll run home and gather the lads.  They all know these woods as well as Sam; we'll look together.  We'll find him much quicker that way, to be certain."

Bilbo stared at him.  "Hamfast…you don't have to do this."

Hamfast folded his arms across his chest, his face taking on a stubborn expression that would one day be passed along to his youngest son as he boldly declared to follow his master into Mordor, though neither Bilbo nor Hamfast could know this.  "You just give me one moment, Mr. Bilbo," he said firmly.  "I'll go round up the lads."

Bilbo stared a moment longer, then reached out and clasped Hamfast on the shoulder.  "Ham…thank you," he whispered. 

Hamfast smiled slightly, then gave his master a gentle but firm push towards the door.  "Go then, sir," he said.  "No time to waste.  I'll meet you on the south side of the hill.  Hurry!"

With that Bilbo turned and dashed into Bag End as Hamfast raced down the hill towards # 3 Bagshot Row.

*          *          *  

a/n:  Aiii!  What'll happen now??  ;)  Sangwa—no telling!!  *stares sternly at you*  ;)  Sorry to leave it hanging, but the chapter just wanted to end here.  Don't worry, there won't be such a gap between postings this time, promise!!!  


	12. The Storm

A/n: Okay, I promised it wouldn't be long.  Did I do good?  *imploring grin* Things are starting to move along quickly now, so hopefully the chapters'll be psted pretty consistently as well.  Thanks as always for the reviews!  :)

*          *          *

Hamfast swung the door to the smial open harshly, causing it to slam against the wall with a loud *bang*.  There was a startled gasp from the kitchen, then Bell appeared, clutching a dishtowel and looking alarmed.  "Hamfast!" she cried, seeing her husband's distraught face.  "What is it?"

"Call the lads, Bell!" he ordered.  "Get them in here, quickly!  Mr. Frodo's gone missing, we've got to go and find him."

Bell gaped at her husband.  "In this?" she exclaimed, looking out the window at the darkened sky.  "He's out in *this*?"

"Yes, lass, now don't delay!" he cried, pushing past her.  "HAMSON!  HALFRED!"

"Hamfast!" Bell cried suddenly, "where's Sam?"

He stopped and turned to her, looking bewildered and alarmed.  "He's not here with you?"

"He was," she replied, wringing her hands, "but I sent him to help you in the garden so you'd be finished before the storm hit.  Didn't he show up?"

Hamfast looked panicked.  "Nay, I never saw him…" suddenly his face registered shock.  "He must've heard us talking," he whispered.  "I'll be he's gone off looking for Mr. Frodo…"

Bell cried out in her distress.  The sound seemed to rouse Hamfast from his half-daze.  Turning and taking his wife by the shoulders, he said firmly "Listen, lass.  We'll find them.  Don't worry.  The Shire's seen storms like this before.  Sam's a smart lad, he'll know what to do.  But for now you have to be calm, lest the little'uns panic.  Okay?"

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, but managed to calm herself a little. 

Hamfast kissed her briefly.  "Good lass," he murmured, brushing a hand over her cheek comfortingly.

Hamson and Halfred appeared in the doorway, looking alarmed.  "Da?" Halfred said.  "What is it?"

Hamfast turned from his wife and grabbed two cloaks, tossing them at his startled sons.

"We're leaving," he said.

~          ~          ~

Sam pushed his way past a tangle of branches, squinting into the darkness of the forest.  

"Mr. Frodo?" he called, but the only response was the not-so-distant rumble of thunder and the rustle of the wind in the tree leaves.

He gulped, and began moving forward again.  He didn't like the forest at night, especially not during a storm; the shadows seemed to slink and slither about him, as though they would grab him if given the chance.  The very thought nearly made him freeze in fear, but he forced it from his mind.  "Frodo needs me," he reminded himself, and the thought gave him courage.  "He needs me and I won't let him down."

He began walking again, clumsily making his way through the think brambles and undergrowth.

Suddenly, the sky above him flashed brilliantly, illuminating the forest around him, and the crash that followed seemed to shake the very earth.  Sam stumbled, then cried out as a branch whipped in the wind and caught him across the cheek.  He raised his palm and pressed it to the stinging area.  When he pulled it away he winced at the line of blood across his palm.  Wiping it on his breeches, he desperately tried to calm his racing pulse.

A sudden noise from the forest a ways to his left made him start and stiffen.

"Mr. Frodo?" he cried, louder this time.

There was no answer, but he thought he heard the sounds of crying over the growing storm.  He gasped, then cried, "Ham on, Mr. Frodo!  I'm coming!"

With that he dashed off into the undergrowth.

~          ~          ~

Frodo woke with a start as a loud crash of thunder sounded over him.  Sitting up quickly, he cried out as he nearly fell from the rock he'd been sleeping on.  Looking around blearily, he wondered aloud, "When did it get so dark?  How long was I asleep?"

He glanced around, his alarm growing.  The glade, which had seemed so peaceful when he'd arrived, was far from it now.  The wind whipped through the trees, making them bend and creak and groan with strain.  Beside him, the once happily-bubbling Brandywine was swirling and dark, menacing.  As he took in his surroundings, they were suddenly lit by a brilliant flash of lightning, and he cried out again as the thuder crashed around him.  

"I've got to get out of here!" he wailed to himself, leaping to his feet and gazing about in blind panic.  "Which way, which way?" he cried, grasping at his curls distraughtly.  He couldn't for the life of him recall how to get back to Bag End.  A sob caught him by surprise; reaching up he realized there were tears streaming down his face.  He shook his head.  No sense in blubbering like a baby, he chided himself mentally.  Best to keep a cool head and—

*CRACK*!

He dropped to his knees and covered his head, crying out as the thunder sounded yet again.  He'd never liked storms, an had always hidden from them when he was little.  They still unnerved him now, even when he was safely inside.  But to be out here…alone…lost…

"Bilbo!" he sobbed.  "BILBO!!"

A sudden crashing in the forest before him made him start and fall back.  He shrank in fear when he saw a figure come staggering out of the woods, but it vanished when he saw who it was.

"S…Sam?" he said in amazement.

"Mr. Frodo!" The lad was before him in an instant, kneeling and checking him over to see if he was hurt.  "Oh, Mr. Frodo, are you okay?  I came as quickly as I could, sir, honest!  You shouldn't've gone a'wandering alone!  Are you okay?"

Frodo shook himself, realizing his mouth was hanging open.  "Yes, I'm…I'm fine, Sam, but…what are you doing here?"

Sam looked up at him, his brow furrowed slightly.  "Why…I came to find you, sir!" he said.  "Why else would I be here?"

Frodo didn't know how to answer that, so he merely continued to gaze at the young hobbit in bewildered wonder.

After a moment Sam stood, extending his hand.  "Come on, sir," he said.  "I've got to get you out of here."

Frodo accepted the lad's hand and staggered to his feet.  

"Sam," he said, "I don't remember how I got here!  I fell asleep, and…"

"It's okay, Frodo," Sam said.  I know the way.  Just follow me—"

*CRACK!*

A great bolt split the night, and with a shower of sparks and the stench of burning, the tree before them crashed to the ground.  They staggered backwards and fell to the ground, then stared at the fallen tree that blocked their path.  It was then the rain began to pour down in thundering torrents, quickly soaking both hobbits.

"Well," Sam said after a moment.  "That was how we were supposed to get back."

Frodo looked to him in alarm.  "Isn't there another way?" he cried urgently.  "Surely…"

"Well, aye, there is," Sam said, having to fairly shout to be heard over the storm.  "We follow the Brandywine until we reach the path.  It's the longer way 'round, but I expect there's nothing else for it."

"Come on, then!" Frodo cried, leaping to his feet and pulling Sam up with him before turning and dashing into the forest.  

"Mr. Frodo, wait!" Sam cried, scrambling after him.  He ran as quickly as his legs would carry him, slipping and sliding over the slick mud of the riverbank.  "Please, Frodo, *wait*!"

Frodo, who was running in blind panic, finally registered Sam's voice behind him.  He stopped, and spun around—

—in time to see the muddy bank below Sam's feet give way as Sam slipped into the swirling Brandywine, vanishing with a little cry.

*          *          *

a/n:  *smacks herself on the head* Oh, that was low, even for me.  Sorry, sorry!  TBC very soon, I promise!  And hey, I did do a better job of posting quickly, right? :)

BTW, this chapter owes a very obvious debt of gratitude to Mainframe's story "Brandywine" as well as Kora's story "The End of All Things."  If you haven't read  those rush right away and do so immediately!!  And thanks to both authors for the wonderful inspiration!  


	13. The Brandywine Bridge

 For a split second, Frodo stood staring, too stunned to move.  Then, in a sudden burst that took even him by surprise, he screamed, "NO!" and sprung into action.  He raced back to the river, eyes wide and terrified, wet hair whipping unnoticed in his face.  "SAM!" he screamed as his eyes desperately scanned the surface of the swirling current.  "SAM!!"

A slight movement caught his eye, and he spun quickly to see Sam floundering near the center of the river.  The young hobbit couldn't quite get his head above the water, but his arms made enough commotion against the waves that Frodo was able to spot him.

"SAM!"

Without thinking, Frodo abandoned all sense of safety and leapt into the swirling current, swimming for all he was worth toward the young hobbit.

"Hang on, Sam, hang ON!" he sputtered.

Sam, who was still a considerable distance ahead of him, managed to raise his face above the water for a moment.  He gave a choked sob, something that sounded like "Mommy!" before losing his battle completely and sinking out of sight beneath the waves.

"NOO!" the sob tore at Frodo's throat as tears streamed unnoticed among the raindrops on his face.  "Oh, Sam, hang on!  Hang on!!"

With that, he dove beneath the waves.

~          ~          ~

"Da!" Hamson cried as he and his brother slogged through the water-logged fields, desperately trying to keep up with their father.  "Where are we going?"

Hamfast's reply drifted back over his shoulder, but he did not slow down.

"Mr. Frodo's out here somewhere, lads!  We're going to meet Mr. Bilbo and go looking for him!  Sam may be out here as well."

"Sam?" Halfred cried, picking up the pace a little.  "What's *he* doing out here?"

"Looking for Frodo, would be my guess!" Hamfast called.  "Step up, lads!  This rain's not going to be stopping any time soon."

They rounded the corner and saw Bilbo standing by Bag End's back gate, cloak slung over his shoulder, his eyes anxious as he scanned the road.  

"Mr. Bilbo!" Hamfast called, waving.  Bilbo turned and spotted them, then hurried over to meet them.  

"All right, let's go!" he said.  "No time to waste!"

"Mr. Bilbo," Hamfast said as they began trekking towards the forest.  "I think my Sam's already gone a'looking for Mr. Frodo.  We may have to find him as well!"

Bilbo looked dismayed.  "Samwise?  Has he?  I can't say it surprises me, but that makes for another one to worry about.  Ah well!  With any luck they'll be together. Come on!"

With that they disappeared into the forest.

~          ~          ~

The storm was abating.

The surface of the waters of the Brandywine began to calm, their maddened swirling growing smoother though the river continued to rush on, swollen from the rain.  The wind whispered mournfully through the trees, but the gale of thunder and lightning had ceased.

The world stilled, and watched, and waited.

Suddenly, an explosion erupted at the banks of the muddy waters as two waterlogged hobbits burst forth.

Frodo coughed violently, one arm curled tight around Sam's chest as his other groped for the slippery mud of the shore.  He found no purchase, and, weakened by his swimming, was unable to bodily pull himself and Sam onto the shore.  He sobbed weakly, his hand clawing at the mud as they were swept further down the river.  Sam…he had to help Sam.  Frodo forced himself to focus, gazing further ahead.  The river had washed out much of the bank, right up to the line of the trees, and ahead, several scraggly roots dangled into the river.  Frodo grabbed at them as they passed, and managed to catch himself on one.  He hauled Sam up between them, panting, "Okay, Sam, try and pull yourself up."

Silence answered him.

"Sam?"

Frodo looked into the young hobbit's face and gave a choked cry when he saw how blue it was.  Sam…Sam wasn't breathing!

"NO!"

A new burst of energy swept through him, and in one movement, Frodo had shoved Sam up onto the muddy banks and was clambering up after him.  He fell to his knees before the limp young hobbit, touching him with violently shaking hands.

"Sam, Sam," he sobbed.  "Oh, please, Sam, don't leave me!  Don't leave me, please, Sam, breathe!  Breathe!!"

Sam didn't move.

"Elbereth, help me!" Frodo cried, and hoisted Sam up into his arms.  "What do I do??"

Desperately he thought back to his days at Brandy Hall.  Though most of the lads were good swimmers, there had been the occasional accident, and many close calls.  Frodo wracked his brain, searching for something, anything, that could help him now, and suddenly recalled the time his cousin Tim had been nearly drowned.   The lad had been caught underwater for almost five minutes when his foot had been snared in a tangle of branches.  They'd dragged him onto the bank, lay him on his back, and pounded his chest until he coughed…

Frodo lowered Sam back to the ground and placed his hands over Sam's heart, praying he was doing the right thing.  

"Please," he whispered again before pressing down, hard, once, twice, three times…

Sam thrashed quite suddenly, and began to cough and choke.  Frodo hastily turned him onto his stomach so that Sam could rid his lungs of the water he'd swallowed.  He lay a comforting hand on the lad's back as Sam coughed, choked, retched and coughed again, braced on his forearms.  After an agonizing moment that seemed more like an eternity, he collapsed, his breathing shallow but steady; the horrid blue fading from his cheeks.  

"Oh, thank Elbereth," Frodo breathed, and pulled Sam into his lap, hugging him close. 

Sam coughed weakly a few more times, then stilled and went limp again.  Frodo gasped, pulling away long enough to look into Sam's face.  The lad was still breathing—at this Frodo heaved a sigh of relief—but then why wasn't he awake?

"Sam," he said gently.  "Sam, wake up.  We have to get out of here, Sam."

Nothing.

Fresh tears welled in Frodo's eyes as he cradled the child close to him.  "Oh, Sam," he whispered, "please wake up. Please don't leave me, Sam."

Sam didn't move.

Frodo fought the urge to break down again.  "Sam needs me," he whispered to himself.  Cradling the child close to his chest to share some of his warmth, Frodo struggled to his feet and looked around blearily.  He had no idea where he was, how was he supposed to—?

Suddenly, though, he recalled the ride to Bag End.  They'd crossed the Brandywine, hadn't they?  Frodo thought hard.  Yes…the road went right over it.  The bridge!  Frodo knew he and Sam hadn't been swept that far—he'd have noticed, he was certain!  So all he had to do was follow the river, and it should take him back to the Brandywine Bridge!  From there he could find someone to help them.

He hurried as quickly as his weakened body would allow, staying a clear distance from the river but keeping it within his sight.  Sam wasn't a heavy hobbit, but in Frodo's already weakened condition he began to weigh him down.  After a time, spots of dark started swimming before Frodo's eyes, and he suddenly realized he was about to pass out from exhaustion. 

No! 

He shook his head violently.  Sam wouldn't survive if Frodo couldn't get help to him quickly.  The lad was breathing, but he was startlingly pale, and despite being cuddled close against Frodo's chest, he was beginning to tremble violently.  

"Gotta get you out of these wet clothes, Sam," Frodo murmured as he walked, desperately trying to keep his feet.  "Won't do for you to be this cold.  That water was freezing, wasn't it Sam?" Keep talking, he told himself.  Just keep talking, Frodo…

He stumbled, and dropped to his knees, the darkness finally winning over.  He clutched Sam, his head bowed, as tears mingled with the rain on Frodo's cheeks and dropped onto Sam's.  "Sam, oh Sam I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry…"

He was faintly aware that the ground beneath him was no longer the tangle of brush and dead leaves the forest had been, but packed dirt.  His mind wasn't able to register exactly what that meant, nor was it able to register the sound of hooves and the shout above the gentle patter of the rain.  Darkness was closing in, and all Frodo could do was cling to Sam and cry weakly.  He was falling, Sam was slipping from his grasp…this was the end.

The sounds of shouting filled the air.  

Can't they be quiet? Frodo wondered, delusional.  

Sam was taken from his arms, and at that Frodo nearly regained a shred of consciousness, but the darkness was too strong, too persistent…

Frodo passed out, unaware of the gentle hands that lifted him and Sam into a cart, wrapping them both in blankets, and of the voices calling out to one another, shouting for a healer.

They'd made it to the Brandywine Bridge.

*          *          *


	14. Rescued

A/n: I think I'm back on track with this story.  For a time there I had no idea how it was going to go, but for the most part I've gotten it worked out in my head.  Hopefully.  *crosses fingers*  For those still actually reading this, thank you for your patience.  Oh, and the next chapter should hopefully be a little longer.  

*          *          *

"Whoa, then, what's this?"

Damon Proudfoot frowned through the pouring rain down at the two lads being held before him.  One was thin and pale, with dark curls clinging to his brow from the rain; the other, smaller and obviously younger, golden curls equally soaked.

"Found 'em like this by the river!" said the burly hobbit holding the older boy.  The lass holding the child—no less burly herself—nodded in agreement.  

Damon's frown deepened, and he stepped back from the door, ushering in the drenched four.  "Well, come in, come in!  Can't have them or you two catching your death of cold, can we?"

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, sir!"

Damon waved off their thanks, and pulled the door closed behind them.  The midwife came and took their cloaks from them to hang by the fire, unclasping them herself so the pair could keep a hold on the children.

"Now," Damon said, brushing a hand through his grey and black peppered hair.  "What have we got here?"

"Don't know who they are," the lass said through lightly chattering teeth.  "Someone's bound to be worried for 'em, though, I recon.  Or someone needs a good beating for letting their kids wander in a storm such as this."

"I recognize that 'un," the midwife said, returning and looking down at Sam.  "Seen him 'round here once or twice when one of his brothers or sisters was ill.  Don't know his name, but last name's Gamgee."

Damon frowned, a crease forming in his brow as he leaned over to peer more closely at the pale boy in the hobbit woman's arms.  "Hamfast's littlest?  S'that him?"

The midwife—Lilly—nodded.  "Aye."

"Then you're right, Ham's bound to worry.  Lilly, go and fetch Rowan, tell him to take the pony down to Bagshot Row straight away.  Ham'll want to know where his son is, but I don't think we really ought to think about moving the lad until we've taken a closer look at him.  Tell him 'bout this other lad, too—mayhap if it's someone this lad's with often Ham'll know who he is."

Lilly bowed and hurried out of the room to fetch the apprentice.

"Now then," Damon said, turning back to the shivering couple clutching the hobbit children, "let's take a look at them, shall we?  And then get you two a nice hot cup of tea."

The group trooped out of the hall and into one of the adjoining rooms.  Frodo and Sam were gently lowered to a pair of soft cots.  Damon turned to the shivering couple.  

"Now, why don't the two of you come along into the living room?  I can arrange some tea to be made, and…"

"Oh, no, sir, thankee kindly," the man said, bowing and backing toward the door.  "We'd best be getting back, we've a long way to go."

Damon frowned, "In this weather?  Are you certain?  Wouldn't you like to at least warm yourselves by the fire a bit?  And I'm certain Ham'll want to thank you, as well as this lad's parents…you've saved their lives, after all…"

The lass shook her head.  "Nay, sir, thankee again, but we'd really best get going."

Damon shook his head in amazement.  "You're certain…"

"Yes, sir." 

He shook his head.  "All right, then.  But at least take some dry cloaks.  You'll freeze if you wear those water-logged ones of yours.  Here, I've got plenty of extras."

The hobbits tried to protest, but Damon insisted, shoving the cloaks into their hands.  "Gifts and payment from some of my patients who are skilled at knitting," he said with a kindly smile.  "I haven't much use for all of them, since it's just me an' Lilly here for the most part, though Rowan's in and out now too, I'll admit.  But I've got dozens.  Please, take some."

The blushing couple reluctantly accepted a matching pair of finely knit dry cloaks and hurried out into the night.  

Damon shook his head, then turned his attention back to his patients.  

"Best be seeing to these lads, then," he muttered to himself.  "If I'm not mistaken the pair o' you has quite a story to tell.  Too bad you won't be doing much telling for the time being."

He moved forward and, after gazing sadly down at the pair for a moment, set to work.

*          *          *

"Hamfast!"

Hamfast looked up at the sound of his wife's voice, squinting through the rain into the water-logged field.  Through the torrents he could barely make out her figure, racing toward him, another figure in tow.  

"Bell?" he called, and started slogging toward her as quickly as he was able.  "Bell!  What is it?"

They met at the center of the field.  "Ham!" She said, breathless.  "This lad says he thinks they've found our Sam!"

"What?" Hamfast whipped his head to stare at the shivering lad before him.  "Where?"

"By the bridge, sir," he answered through chattering teeth.  "Leastways we thinks it's him.  Lilly says as she knows your son, sir, though we couldn't remember his name."

"Lilly Burrows?  Damon Proudfoot's midwife?"

"Aye, sir."

Hamfast looked at Bell.  "She might know him, then; lass has a way with faces.  Though I don't think we've had Sam there but once or twice."  

"She'd remember, begging your pardon, sir," shivered the lad.  

"Who are you, then, lad?"

"R…Rowan Chubbs, sir.  I'm the healer's apprentice.  And Lilly ain't never forgotten a face."

Hamfast nodded.  "Right, then.  Bell, you go with him, see if it's our Sam.  I'll round up the others.  We've still got to find Mr. Frodo."

He turned to go but felt a tug on his sleeve.  Rowan said, "Mr. Frodo, sir?  Is he sort of pale, with dark hair?  Real slim-like?"

"Yes!" Hamfast said, turning his full attention on the lad again.  "Have you seen him too?"

"He was brought in with the little 'un.  Pair o' folk found 'em by the bridge, carried 'em to us."

Hamfast nodded again.  "That's got to be them," he said.  "Bell, go and get the cart hitched up.  Lad, I'm assuming you rode?"  Rowan nodded.  "Then we're going to borrow your pony, if that's all right.  It'll be faster than going to the stables.  I'll round up the lads and Mr. Bilbo, and you two go get the cart ready.  We'll meet you on the Row in ten minutes."

They both nodded.  Hamfast started to turn to go, then looked at the shivering lad again.  "Bell—while you're at it, see if you can't find one of Halfred's old cloaks for this lad to use.  You oughtn't've come all the way out here, underdressed like that, lad, but I appreciate you were trying to fetch us in a hurry.  We'll get you warmed as best we can, though there's no time to get you properly dry.  We can tend to that at the healer's.  Now hurry!"

They both nodded again, and hurried back across the field as Hamfast reentered the wood, calling for his master and his sons.

*          *          *


	15. At the Healer's

Twenty minutes later, Bilbo, Hamfast, Bell, and Rowan were all loaded into Ham's small cart.  Halfred and Hamson stayed behind to look after the younger Gamgee children; they wouldn't have been able to crowd into the cart anyway.  It was a two-seat cart, used for transporting produce or gardening supplies or groceries, not large parties.  Rowan and Bilbo sat in the back where the supplies usually went.  Hamfast and Bell had both protested to this at first, but Bilbo had insisted, saying he hadn't really a notion how to drive a cart and he wouldn't see Bell sitting in the dirt.  Hamfast had been sorely tempted to point out that the quality had no business sitting in the dirt either, but he'd decided against it.  Bilbo was wearing a determined look that allowed for no digressions, and besides, Hamfast was worried about Sam and Mr. Frodo.  There'd be time enough to discuss propriety later.

"How did you say they were found, lad?" Bilbo asked for the third time.  Rowan, somewhat warmed by the too-large cloak that had been wrapped around him, answered patiently. 

"By the bridge, sir.  Sopping wet.  Lilly says they must've decided to take a swim in the river.  Either that or they'd been out in that rain for hours.  Sir."

"How did they look?" Bell inquired.  

"Pale," Rowan said, turning to face her.  "All limp and pale and sopping wet.  They must've been freezing, but they weren't shivering.  The littler one—Sam, s'that his name?—his lips were kind of blue.  They looked drowned."

Bell closed her eyes and quickly turned back around.  Rowan looked alarmed, and glanced at Bilbo.  "Did I say something wrong?" he whispered, wide-eyed.

Bilbo smiled a little.  "Nay, lad, just the truth.  It'll serve you well as a healer, someday; though you might want to work a little on how bluntly you lay it on."

Rowan looked at a loss, but nodded and mumbled "Yes, sir."  Bilbo let it drop.

The trip wasn't a long one, though to the worried hobbits it felt much longer, and in twenty minutes they'd arrived at the healer's.  

"Don't know how they made it out this far," Bilbo murmured, a frown on his face.  "They hadn't been gone long enough to walk this distance."

Hamfast shook his head.  "Maybe that Lilly wasn't far off when she said they'd taken a swim," he said.  "It would explain how they'd gotten that far, if they were in that river."

Bell gasped at the thought.  "But how would they have gotten back out?" she said, grabbing at Hamfast's sleeve and clambering down from the cart.  "Sam can't swim!"

"Frodo can," Bilbo said.  "He learned in Buckland, after his parents passed on.  Never said much about it, only that he 'wanted to know how.'" 

"Well, if that's the way of it I'll bless him for it, and never say a word against it for the rest of my days," Bell swore fervently.  

Rowan jumped a bit clumsily from the cart.  "You can go on in," he said, pointing at the door.  "I have to tend to Sassafras here, she'll catch chill if I leave her in the rain."

Hamfast looked down at the shivering lad, and shook his head.  "Lad, you've been out in this rain for long enough.  You go on inside.  I'll tend to the pony."

"Ham?" Bell whispered, touching his arm, but Hamfast shook his head.  

"Lass, Sam isn't going to get any worse in the time it takes me to lead a pony to the stables," he said.  "And besides.  From the sounds of it, our lad was saved by the kindness of folk we ain't never met.  The least we can do is try and repay that kindness."

Bell looked at her husband for a long moment before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against his wet lips.  "You always do the right thing," she murmured, stroking at his cheek a little.

Hamfast shifted, a little embarrassed, and said, "Lass, the master…" But Bilbo was looking the other way, pointedly engaged in a conversation with Rowan.  Hamfast smiled a little and shook his head, then leaned down and kissed his wife briefly.  "You go tend to Sam and young Master Frodo," he said.  "I'll be along shortly."

She nodded, and the three of them turned and walked into the brightly-lit smial.

Hamfast turned his attention to the pony, who was huffing slightly and sweating despite the chill air. "Well, lass," he said as he began to undo the harness on the cart, "you've certainly served your master well tonight.  And you must be exhausted, as well!  But we do appreciate it, you getting us to our boy as you've done."

The pony snorted, nuzzling Ham's shoulder as he came round to undo the other side.  He chuckled and patted her neck, undoing the last clasp and taking her by the bridle.  "Off we go, then.  I reckon you'll lead me to your stables eagerly enough."

The pony snorted again, and began walking down the small hill the smial was built into.  Round a corner, and sure enough, the barn lay snuggled between the road and a small grove of trees.  The pony tossed her head and started walking faster, and Hamfast allowed her, eager himself to get back and see to his son.  Once inside the small but cozy enclosure, he saw to it she had plenty of straw and a few nice warm blankets, then allowed her a small sip of water before placing the bucket out of reach.  "Nay, lass," he said when she tried to follow him back out.  "We'll send someone to give you more of a drink when you've cooled down a bit."  He patted the pony's muzzle again, then latched the stall door and the heavy barn door and dashed back up the hill.

When he entered the smial, he was alarmed at first to find the front room empty, but after a moment he realized he could hear voices from the back of the smial.  Following them, he soon found himself standing in the doorway to a largish room with several cots crowded into it.  Two of the cots were occupied, though Ham's view of the occupants was blocked by his wife, his master, and the healer.  They all looked up as they saw him enter the room, and Hamfast was horrified to see Bell had tears in her eyes.  

"Lass," he said, hurrying forward, "What…?"  He stopped dead at the sight of his son.

Rowan was right.  Sam *did* look dead.  His golden curls hung limply at the sides of his too-pale cheeks, and his eyes were closed.  Hamfast could barely hear the child's breathing; it was shallow and slow, and the spaces between his breaths were too long.  His face had a strangely fragile look to it, as though the lad's skin were made of the most delicate tissue paper and would tear if touched.  Hamfast dared this last, bringing his fingers to brush against the lad's temple; he was horrified to find it so frozen and damp.  

"Mr. Gamgee," a voice from his left said, and Hamfast snapped back to reality a little.  

"Yes?"

Damon stepped forward.  "Sir," he said, extending his hand and shaking briefly.  "I want you to know we're doing all we can for your son."

"How is he?" Hamfast asked, turning back to gaze at the child again.

Damon sighed.  "He's not gotten worse since they brought him in.  Unfortunately, he's not gotten any better, either.  We've gotten them dried off, and into warm clothes, and we're heating the room as best we can to try and get some warmth back into them."

Hamfast turned and peered behind Damon at the other cot, where Frodo rested.  Bilbo sat at his side, and had been watching the healer as he explained the situation to Hamfast; now, he returned his attention to his cousin.  

Frodo looked a good deal better than Sam.  He was still asleep, but his face was colored, his cheeks rosy.  Even from where he stood Hamfast could hear his deep, steady breathing.  

"He'll be all right, then?" Hamfast asked, gazing down at the lad.  

Damon nodded.  "Oh, aye, I expect so," he said.  "He's mostly just asleep, now.  He's bigger than the child; he's regained his body heat quicker.  Almost too quickly; I was afraid for a time he was coming down with a fever.  But we're watching him, and he seems to be doing fine."  Damon smiled.  "I'd say he'll be good as new in a few days."

"And what of Sam?" Bell asked, her voice timid and quiet.  Hamfast couldn't know it, but apart from a small cry of dismay when she'd first seen her son, it was the first she had spoken since entering the smial.

Damon turned grave eyes on her.  "I can't rightly say, I'm afraid," he admitted.  "If we can get him warm, he's got a decent chance.  It's not only hypothermia I'm worried about with this one.  From the way he's breathing, he might have a bit of water in his lungs.  If I had to guess, I would have to concur with Lilly on this one: these boys were in the river."

"We were."

Four heads snapped towards the sound of the soft voice, four pairs of eyes widening in disbelief.

"Frodo!" Bilbo cried, taking his nephew's hand in his.

Frodo winced and opened his eyes a crack.  "Uncle?" he said.  "Am I dreaming?"

"No, lad, you're not," Bilbo whispered, tears filling his eyes as he smiled down on his adopted charge.  "I'm here, lad.  I'm here."

"Frodo," Damon said, smiling.  "Nice to meet you." He extended a hand, which Frodo shook after extracting his own from his Uncle's grip.  

"Likewise," Frodo said, looking at a loss.  "And you are…?"

Damon and Bilbo laughed, and Hamfast and Bell managed small smiles.  "Damon Proudfoot, my boy!" Damon said, bowing.  "And you'll be in my charge for the next few days at least, so you'd best be dispensing with the formalities!"

Frodo frowned.  "Charge…?"

"Mr. Proudfoot's a healer, Frodo," Bilbo explained. 

Frodo closed his eyes for a moment.  "Head hurts," he said by way of explanation. 

"I don't doubt it," Damon said sympathetically.  "I'll have Lilly make a concoction for you.  It should help you sleep as well.  But in the meantime, lad, I need you to try and tell me what you remember."

Frodo nodded slightly.  "I was…reading," he said.  "Fell asleep.  When I woke up it was dark, and there was lightning, and wind, and thunder.  I was scared."

"And with good reason, too!" Bilbo said, a frown appearing on his face.  "Frodo lad, you know not to wander that far from home if you can't find your way back!"

"Mr. Bilbo, sir, not meaning any disrespect, but could you let the lad finish his tale before you berate him?  It might help us understand why Sam is in this condition."

Bilbo looked abashed, and nodded, but Frodo perked up, concern swimming in his eyes.  "Sam?  Where is Sam?  What condition?"

"Now, lad, lie back, and just relax," Damon soothed, putting one weathered hand on Frodo's chest to ease him back onto his cot.  "We're taking care of him, now tell us what happened."

Frodo fixed the healer with a cold, blue gaze.  "Tell me where he is," he said.  "Tell me what's wrong with him."

"Why, lad, he's right here," Hamfast said, stepping aside so Frodo could see the cot Sam rested upon. 

Frodo stilled as he gazed at the child, his eyes gone distant, his breathing all but halted.  Then, suddenly, he began to tremble.

"Lad!" Bilbo cried.  "What…?"

Then the tears came.  "Oh, Sam!" Frodo cried, and buried his face in his hand.  "Sam, I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry!  It's all my fault, I remember now, it's all my fault…!"

"Lad," Damon said, his voice commanding and steady.  "What's all your fault?  What happened to Sam?"

"The river," Frodo choked between whimpers.  "The Brandywine.  He came to find me, and he fell in."  He looked up at Hamfast and Bell, a plea in his eyes, and his words tumbled out in a hurried jumble.  "Oh, I tried to help him, I really did!  I went after him, and pulled him onto the shore…I got him to breathe again, but he wouldn't wake up, so I carried him, but I didn't know the way and it was still raining and I was lost and…and…" he broke down into silent sobs.

"Lad," Bell said, moving forward.  "You're going to make your headache worse, if you keep up with that nonsense.  Now stop it this instant."

Frodo looked up at her, surprised enough to stop his tears.  The others in the room stared at her in surprise as well, but Bell had raised enough children to know how to make one stop crying. 

"Listen to me," she said, gently but firmly, kneeling down beside the cot to look Frodo in the eye.  "Sam needs your help, Frodo.  We need to know exactly what happened so we know how to help him.  Can you do that for Sam?"

Wide-eyed, Frodo nodded.  Bell said, "Good.  Now tell me, slowly this time.  What happened?"

"He…he fell in," Frodo said.  "His foot slipped on the bank, and he fell.  I went after him."

"Lad," Damon said, stepping forward, "how long was he in the river?"

"I don't know…" Frodo said, thinking.  "I froze at first, when he fell in, but I went after him after a few seconds…he was in the middle of the river, I could see him…"

"Did he have his head above the water?"

"No…only his arms…then he did get his head above the water for a moment, and cried out, then he vanished.  That's when I dived after him."

"Lad," Damon said.  "This is very important.  I need to know about how long he was in that river, and about how long he went without air."

Frodo frowned, biting his lip in concentration.  "About…seven minutes in the river," he said.  "And about five…underwater."  He looked up anxiously, trying to gauge the healer's reaction.

Damon sighed and stood.  "Thank you, Frodo," he said.  "I'll have Lilly bring you that concoction for your head now."  He turned to the Gamgees, and said in a low voice, "That river is freezing on a good day, but in the middle of this storm, and with a child that small?  Hypothermia is a major concern. It would explain why we can't get him warmed.  And I'm concerned…even if he wakes up, and experiences no complications from inhaling that muddy water…his brain was without oxygen for a long time.  There is a possibility of…lasting effects."

"What kind of effects?" Hamfast asked. 

Damon sighed.  "Mind-altering effects," he said gently.  

"Brain damage, you mean," Bell said.  Damon met her gaze somberly, and nodded slowly.  

"It's happened before," he said.  

Bell closed her eyes and bowed her head, covering her mouth with her hand.  Hamfast closed his eyes briefly as well, then opened them again and regarded Damon carefully.  

"What do we do?"

Damon sighed.  "The best we can do for him now is get him warmed up," he said.  "I'll have Rowan build up some more fires, and we'll move him to one of the smaller rooms.  I'll get some more blankets from the closet, and we'll keep him covered as best we can.  In the meantime—"

"I want to stay with him."

They turned in surprise at the sound of Frodo's voice.  He was staring past the three of them at Sam, but when he felt their gazes he looked up.  "I want to help him," he said quietly.  "If it weren't for me he wouldn't be here, like this.  Let me stay with him."

"Lad," Bilbo said gently, "What could you hope to do for him?  And you need your rest too, after all."

"I can keep him warm," Frodo said.  "Let me rest with him, in the same bed.  Body heat is the fastest way to warm up, right?" He looked at the healer. 

Damon considered the lad, nodding slowly.  "Aye, that's true," he said.  "Could be the lad has a good idea."

He turned to the Gamgees.  "I don't suppose either of you has an objection?"

Bell shook her head.  "I think it's a good idea."

"Besides," Frodo cut in, looking back at Sam.  "I won't be able to sleep unless I know how he is.  If I stay with him, I'll know all the time.  And I'll be able to wake up if something goes wrong.  I'll be able to tell you if he needs help!"

Damon smiled.  "Not under the influence of what I'm going to have you drink, you won't," he said.  "You'll be out like a light and nothing will wake you until the drug has run its course.  But never mind.  It's a good idea anyway.  We'll set you two up in the same room, and you can help get the lad warmed up."  

Frodo gave him a grateful look.  Lilly made up one of the rooms, and Rowan built up a large fire in the hearth.  Then Damon carried Sam and Hamfast carried Frodo—much to the lad's chagrin, but he'd tried to stand and had fallen almost immediately—into the room after it had warmed up a bit.  Bell pulled back the large down comforters and Hamfast and Damon carefully deposited their loads into the large feather mattress.  After drinking the bitter-tasting tea Lilly brought in for him, Frodo turned and pulled Sam close against him, cuddling the child against his chest and wrapping his arms around him to try and share as much warmth as he could.  Sam came easily, tucking his head under Frodo's chin and sighing a little before falling back into total unconsciousness.  Frodo held him close as the blankets were tucked in around them, then relaxed, feeling the tea work its magic on him.  Soon he, too, was sound asleep.

"Well," Damon said, gazing down at the two lads.

"What do we do now?" Hamfast asked, coming up beside him and looking at his son and his master's heir.

Damon looked up at him. "Now?" he said.  "Now, we wait."

He turned and walked from the room.  Hamfast stayed a moment longer watching the pair, then leaned down and reached out a hand to stroke Sam's curls.  "Wait," he murmured, then turned with a sigh and walked out of the room.

*          *          *


	16. Understanding

A/n: Chapter contains some romance between Hamfast and Bell—nothing rated higher than a mild PG, however.  I hadn't intended on it, but it sort of…slipped in.  0__0

*          *          *

Hamfast was met immediately by Bell in the corridor outside Sam and Frodo's chamber.

"They're settled, then?" She whispered.

He nodded, and passed a trembling hand through his still damp curls.  "Aye, as well as can be expected."

Bell wrapped her arms around her waist and bit her lip, gazing toward the door to the small room, but she didn't move toward it.  "Well," she said after a moment, "we'd best be getting ourselves dried out.  Won't do for Sam if we're sick…we could make him sick too.  Sicker," she added as an afterthought.

Ham nodded and took his wife's arm, hooking his hand gently under her elbow in a gesture of support and comfort as they headed back into the parlor.

Damon was waiting for them, a bundle of clothing and blankets in his arms.

"I always keep extra clothing on hand," he said, smiling as he handed Hamfast a shirt and a pair of trousers.  "Never know when you'll have to cut something off of some young lad or lass to get to a broken leg.  I don't keep much in the way of dresses, Bell, but this"—he handed her a long, dark green gown—"belonged to my wife.  I think you'll find the fit to be near; she was about you size.  It's a little fancier than occasion calls for, but I'm afraid it's all I have in the way of gowns."

Bell took the garment—made of some kind of lightweight, rippling material that shone in glints of emerald in the firelight—and hesitated.  The garment was finer than anything she'd ever worn, to be certain; she wasn't sure it would be proper of her to wear it, even for a short time while her own clothing was washed and dried.  She glanced up and found Damon watching her, a gentle look on his face.  "Go on," he said quietly.  "We can't have you about in naught but your skin all night.  I'm certain we'll need your skill again before this is over."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but took the garment all the same. "Skill?"

Damon grinned.  "The way you got the young Frodo to stop crying—I haven't mastered the art of child-comforting just yet, I'm afraid.  Like as not I make them cry harder."

Bell laughed in spite of herself.  "Aye, well, you don't get through a brood like mine without learning a thing or two," she said.  

Damon smiled, though it looked a little sad.  "Aye, I suspect you don't," he said.  Bell noted the dip in the doctor's demeanor and was about to question him, but at that moment Bilbo re-entered the room, dressed in a pair of plain brown trousers and a white cotton work shirt.  With his hair still damp from the rain, he looked every bit a farmer, and nothing like the gentlehobbit he really was.  Bell bit back a smile.

Bilbo, however, caught the glances of Bell and Hamfast and grinned.  "I do believe you two have been holding out on me," he said, his tone lightly accusing.  "This is far more comfortable than that awful weskit!  And the shirt!  Why didn't you tell me these were so much softer than those horrid pressed things I'm always wearing?"

Despite themselves, the Gamgees burst into peals of laughter.  "Oh, Mr. Bilbo, sir, if you don't look a sight then I don't know what does!" Ham said, still chuckling.  "Begging your pardon, of course," he added hastily, but Bilbo only grinned. 

"Well, then, go on, you two, get changed and get your clothing in front of the fire.  The storm hasn't let up any."  Bilbo smiled again, though it vanished quickly, then moved back down the corridor to check on Frodo and Sam.  

"Bring your wet clothing out here when you're finished, if you please, and I'll set Lilly to getting them washed up a bit," Damon instructed, then vanished down another corridor. 

Hamfast and Bell walked into the dressing chamber, closing the door behind them.  Safely out of earshot, Bell turned to her husband and said as she pulled her hair down from the tight knot she's put it into earlier, "Did you notice the look on his face, when we were talking about the children?"

Hamfast nodded.  "Aye.  Right down he looked about it, and no wonder, after all."

Bell frowned, shaking the water droplets from her shoulder-length curls.  "No wonder?"

"The doctor's wife died in childbirth, only a few years after they were married," Hamfast explained, his voice low.  "Lost the child a few days later.  Poor lass; she was never the childbearing type, and the midwives around here all warned the couple; but they wanted children, and were determined to try."  He began unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging out of it with a little difficulty as the wet cloth clung to his skin.  "It was quite a blow to Damon, poor hobbit," he continued.  "Locked himself away for almost a year.  Then one day he approached old Willow and asked to be apprenticed to him.  Never said why, but I suspect he wanted to prevent what had happened to him from happening to anyone else."

Bell nodded a little, lost in thought as she stripped out of her wet garments and pulled on the soft green gown.  It was a good fit—though being a little smaller than the roomy housedresses she was used to, it clung around her hips and waist slightly.  There was a crisscross of black ribbon up the front that tied just over her bosom, and the sleeves clung tight around her shoulders, leaving her entire neck completely bare.  The skirt hung nearly to her feet, rather than ending at her shins, and the fabric was heavier than she had thought it would be, hanging in folds that swirled a little when she moved.  There was a line of buttons up the back she couldn't quite reach, so she turned to her husband.

"Ham, could you…" she paused, then said, "Ham?"

Her husband was staring at her, his eyes widened a little.  Standing in the light of the fire, her hair hanging in flowing, damp curls around her shoulders and the gown clinging softly to her, Bell looked positively radiant.

"You look…beautiful," he managed finally, moving forward to assist her with the buttons.  

She blushed, lowering her eyes, reaching up a hand to pull her curls out of the way.  "Come now, Hamfast, is this really the time to—,"

"Shh," he said, finishing the last button and planting a gentle kiss at the nape of her neck before drawing her hand from her hair to let the curls fall back into place.  He smiled as she turned to look up at him and squeezed he shoulder gently.  "Let's go check on Samwise," he said softly, bending over and gathering their wet garments in one hand.   

She nodded, still blushing a little, and placed her hand under the arm her husband extended for her.  Together, they walked out of the room.

*          *          *

A few hours later, Hamfast was curled up asleep in the parlor by the fire.  Bell had been sitting with him, the pair talking quietly as they waited for word of any change.  Thus far, there had been none, and soon Hamfast has fallen silent, dropping into a heavy sleep of exhaustion.  Bell had tried to fall asleep too, knowing she would need to be rested when Sam woke up, but despite her weariness was unable to close her eyes.  Finally she slipped quietly out from under her husband's arm.  Wrapping the shawl she'd been given around her shoulders, she made her way quietly to the small chamber where her son and her employer's heir rested, intending to sit with them for a while, but was startled when she opened the door and saw Bilbo sitting beside the bed, holding Frodo's hand. 

"Oh!" She said, and started to back out of the room.  "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize you were here."  She bowed respectfully and turned to go, but Bilbo's voice stopped her.  

"Oh, no, Bell, you can stay," he said.  She turned and he patted the seat beside his, smiling encouragingly at her.  She flushed a little and drew the shawl tighter around her otherwise bare shoulders, ever more aware of how overdressed she was, and accepted the offer, lowering herself into the chair at the bedside.  She looked at the two young hobbit-lads curled so tightly together and sighed, her heart aching for them both.  

"They didn't deserve this," she whispered, her eyes filling a little.  "No child should have to suffer through this."

Bilbo looked up at her, then down at his nephew.  He sighed and reached out, stroking the lads hair, noting the faded bruise on his neck from Odo's attack.  

"He's been through so much already," Bilbo said quietly.  "Losing his parents at such a young age, being left to fend for himself in that warren, Brandy Hall…then his difficulties in Hobbiton…"

Bell frowned.  "What difficulties, sir?  Hasn't Mr. Frodo been adjusting?"

Bilbo gave her a wry smile.  "Adjusting?  Well, if you consider spending day in and day out up at Bag End with me looking over moldy old scrolls 'adjusting', he's doing right well."

Bell frowned again, confused.  "What of those Boffin lads, then?" she pressed, unable to put the pieces together in her mind.  After all, if Frodo didn't like the other lads around Hobbiton, why had he been so quick to abandon Sam?  Wasn't some companionship better than none?

Bilbo made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.  "Let's just say it didn't work out," he said ruefully, stroking at the faded bruise for a moment before his fingers resumed their work in Frodo's hair.  Bell caught the movement, and awareness dawned on her features for a moment.  They were quickly clouded with confusion again, however.  "Doesn't Mr. Frodo like being with other children, Mr. Bilbo?"

Bilbo sighed.  "Oh, I expect he does, if he finds the right ones; but he's so small, and he's never been well-accepted…I shouldn't have made him go with those lads, I really shouldn't have.  Now he's afraid to try his hand with any of the Hobbiton folk; afraid they'll all reject him like the Boffin lads did."

Bell said, "You made him go?"

Bilbo sighed, his head lowered.  "Aye, I did.  I'd set up the date with Griffo, see, and he'd said he'd bring the lads by 'round seven o'clock in the morning—I couldn't very well have told him to leave after they'd traveled all the way out just to pick up Frodo, could I?—but I should have asked Frodo before I set up the date in the first place.  He'd only been in Hobbiton for two days, after all; I shouldn't have pushed him so fast."

Bell sat in silence, mulling over what she'd been told.  So Frodo hadn't decided not to come and see Sam's garden, then; it had been Bilbo's doing, though the gentlehobbit hadn't known Frodo had made other plans.  Bell frowned.  What did this mean, then?  Did Frodo really mean to make friends with Sam after all?  Or had Bilbo's intervention merely sped up the inevitable split between the two?  Glancing down at the tightly curled pair, Bell reflected that Frodo certainly didn't seem to be bothered by the fact Sam was technically his servant; quite contrary, the lad had seemed genuinely concerned for her son.  But that could have stemmed from guilt, couldn't it?

After a brief debate with herself, she said casually, "I'm sorry Mr. Frodo didn't take to our Sam, then; mayhap the lad could have shown him some of the ways of the place better than those Boffins."  

Bilbo looked up at her, confusion on his face.  "Didn't take to Sam?  Of course Frodo took to Sam.  Why wouldn't he?"

She looked at a loss.  "Well, he didn't seem to want to come calling again, after the first day," she said.  "I assumed he'd found more…suitable company."

Bilbo's eyes lit up in sudden comprehension, and to Bell's surprise he almost smiled.  "I see I'll have to have this conversation with you as well, then," he said, amusement silvering his voice.  

Bell stared at him.  "What conversation would that be, sir?"

Bilbo smiled at her gently.  "Bell…you and Hamfast are wonderful hobbits, please don't mistake me.  But you have a tendency to take propriety to an unnecessary extreme."

She raised an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

"Bell, Sam is perfectly suitable company for Frodo," Bilbo said, reaching out and covering Bell's hand gently.  "As I told your husband, there's no law that says gardeners can't be friends with gentelhobbits.  We're not all that different, when it comes down to it, are we?"

Bell sputtered.  "But sir…it ain't proper…"

"What's not proper about it?"

Bell opened her mouth.  Then closed it.  "Well I…we…"

"Work for me, aye, I know," Bilbo said, smiling slightly, though it had turned a bit sad.  "That means nothing, Bell Gamgee.  Nothing at all.  I deeply value you and your husband, as friends, not as servants.  I hope you know that."

She hadn't, but she could hardly say it, what with Bilbo looking the way he did now.  And truth be told, she'd always been fond of the old hobbit, all talk of 'odd' be thrown into the Brandywine.  She closed her mouth, which was still hanging open, and smiled.  "Of course I do, Mr. Bilbo."

Bilbo smiled, looking a little relieved.  "So.  What's all this about Sam?"

She hesitated.  She didn't really want to make it sound as though the blame were Frodo's, but as far as she knew it Frodo had simply…stopped talking to Samwise.  She recalled the day Sam had come home, sobbing, curling into her arms as a child far younger than Sam would do.  She had never asked him outright what had caused his tears, but she could only assume Frodo had told him he'd made new friends and would no longer need Sam's company.  Had she been wrong…?

"Well, sir, after that first day…Ham had a talk to little Sam, explaining to him how it weren't…proper…to claim Master Frodo as his friend…we had a bit of a job explaining class to him, you see, and he…well, he didn't take to it right away.  Seemed convinced Mr. Frodo would come over to see his little patch of flower garden instead of going with the Boffins.  He took it…rather hard when Mr. Frodo went with them instead."

Bilbo frowned.  "I thought surely Frodo would explain to Sam why he'd had to break his promise…after all, it was I who made Frodo go with those lads in the first place.  Frodo wanted to see Sam, but I told him it would be impolite to send the Boffins away after they made a special trip…"

Bell looked down at the two young hobbits.  "Then it was all just a misunderstanding?"  She frowned again.  "But then why wouldn't Mr. Frodo have explained to Sam…?"

"It's something I suspect we'll have to ask them when they wake up," Bilbo said.  "It sounds like it's all been a misunderstanding, like you said, but we won't know one way or another until they're up and about a little more."  Bilbo sighed, then stood and stretched.  "I'm going to go and see if I can get some rest," he said.  "Are you to be staying with them for a while, then?"

Bell nodded.  "Aye, I will.  I haven't been able to sleep anyway."

Bilbo nodded sympathetically.  "Do wake me if there's any change, won't you?"  He yawned and started moving toward the door.

"Yes, Mr. Bilbo," Bell replied, turning her gaze back onto the two hobbit children.  "I will, sir."

Bilbo nodded and left the room.

Bell gazed down at Frodo, a soft frown on her face.  She didn't really know the lad, after all; before tonight, but for seeing him once or twice on the street and a polite introduction a week after he'd moved in, she hadn't spoken to him at all.  After the incident with Samwise, she hadn't really made any attempts at doing so; proper or not, she'd harbored some aversion toward the master's new heir for hurting her son the way he had.  But now…now it was looking like none of it had happened the way anyone thought, and the entire situation was built upon one mix-up after another.  And now, she was beginning to feel stirrings of guilt for treating her master's new charge with the coolness that she had.

She sighed, and tilted her head, considering him.  His pale face was relaxed, his mouth open slightly; she could hear his soft breathing from where she sat.  His dark curls lay askew over his forehead and across the white linen pillowcase, making him look more than ever like a child of no more than twelve or thirteen.  He was curled on his side with his back to her, both arms wrapped protectively around her son, whose curly-haired head was tucked snugly under the young gentlehobbit's chin.  Sam, for his part, seemed to be responding to the embrace unconsciously; one of his chubby arms was draped over Frodo's slender waist, and the usually independent child seemed more than content to be held in the gentle embrace of the older lad.  

Watching the two, any dislike she had felt toward Frodo melted away, replaced quickly by pity—and a deep swelling of gratitude.  Whatever his reasons, Frodo Baggins had saved her son's life.  Not only had he pulled the child from the river and gotten him breathing, he had carried him—weak and cold as he was himself—to safety. 

"Frodo," she whispered, leaning forward to brush the hair from the young gentlehobbit's brow, "thank you."

She bent and kissed his forehead, feeling her heart clench when Frodo sighed contentedly and murmured a little in his sleep before settling down again.  A fresh wave of pity washed through her; this child had been orphaned for the better part of his life, living quietly unnoticed in a throng of noisy relations for years until Bilbo had adopted him.  How hard that must have been, to feel so…unloved!  Bell bit her lip at the unexpected tears that sprung to her eyes, regarding the lad before her with new understanding.  

"You've learned to be alone, haven't you?" she whispered, stroking his dark curls almost unconsciously.  "All these years, no father or mother to care for you, to love you…"  Frodo had visibly relaxed and was almost smiling under her gentle caresses.  She smiled in response, feeling a swell of understanding well up within her.  Whatever had happened, she was now more than certain Frodo had not—would never—deliberately hurt anyone.  And the child had suffered enough.  

"Well, no longer, Frodo-dear," she whispered.  "You've got Bilbo now.  And you've got us."    She brushed his hair behind his ear, and Frodo, still asleep, smiled a little.  

*          *          *


	17. A Mother's Comfort

Frodo woke slowly to the sound of gentle humming. For a moment, he thought he felt gentle fingers lingering in his hair, but as he stirred the feeling vanished, melting with the last vestiges of sleep.  He blinked a few times, groggy from the medicine, and raised his head to see a figure sitting beside the bed.  He stared, trying to bring the figure into focus.  It was a hobbit-lass, long curls hanging down past her shoulders, soft green dress glowing in the firelight…

"Mum?" he said tentatively.

He heard the humming catch a little, and a soft, trembling voice reply, "No, Frodo-dear.  It's Bell…Bell Gamgee."

Frodo snapped back to reality.  Flushing with embarrassment, he looked down, unable to meet Bell's gaze.  "I, um…sorry, I think I was…dreaming…" tears burned at his eyes as he remembered the dream: someone caring for him, stroking his hair gently, kissing his forehead…whispering to him that he was not alone…

'Fool,' he berated himself, wiping at his tears hastily.  'Your parents are gone, you know that; you are alone, you'll always be alone, so get used to it.'

He became aware of a warm weight pressed against his chest and glanced down, seeing Sam's curly head tucked snugly against him.  The younger lad's breathing rose and fell steadily, and most of his color had returned.  A small smile played across Frodo's lips as he gazed at the child, and after a moment he dared to glance up at Bell again.  

"Has he woken at all yet?" he said quietly.

Bell's eyes looked sad and she shook her head.  "Not yet, I'm afraid.  But he's doing much better now.  Damon expects he'll awake in another few hours or so, and then we'll see…how he's doing."  She choked a little on the last, and suddenly Frodo remembered the healer's earlier concerns about Sam going so long without air.  Would Sam be…well, would he still be *Sam* when he woke up?  Or would he be…different?  Frodo choked a little himself; he hoped, for the young hobbits' sake, that he was all right, but it really wouldn't matter much either way for Frodo.  Sam didn't like him, after all.  He bowed his head against that painful knowledge, but forced it back.  It was selfish of him to be worried about that, anyway; Sam's health was far more important.  

The older hobbit settled back into the blankets and wrapped an arm around to stroke Sam's hair gently, heart tightening as Sam unconsciously snuggled closer, knowing the lad would never have done that if he'd known who was holding him. 

"He'll be all right," Frodo whispered, almost to himself, though Bell overheard it in the stillness of the room.  Then, in a whisper that even Bell could barely hear: "He has to be."

"I expect he'll be fine," Bell said in a voice more confident than she felt, pretending she hadn't overheard the last of Frodo's comment.  "He's a strong lad, after all.  He always has been."  She gave Frodo a sidelong look, though the lad didn't notice: his gaze was still fixed on Sam's slack face.

"He was very lucky, you know," she said casually.

Frodo's head snapped toward her.  "Lucky?" he said incredulously.  "How is…*this* lucky?"

Bell tilted her head at him and said reasonably, "Well, after all, you were there to pull him back out of the river."

Frodo's face twisted into an odd expression; it was a moment before Bell realized it was self-disgust.  "He wouldn't have been there at all if it weren't for me," the lad said in a harsh whisper, lowering his eyes. 

"Maybe that's true," Bell said amiably, "but even so, it was very lucky for all of us you know how to swim.  He'd have certainly drowned if you hadn't."

Frodo looked up at her quickly, his face carefully guarded as he tried to gauge the meaning of her words.  "I suppose so…" he said slowly. 

Bell nodded.  "Quite lucky indeed," she said, returning her gaze to her son.  "We'd have lost him, if not for you.  You saved his life."

Frodo paled.  "Oh, no…no, I didn't, Mistress Gamgee, I"—

"Bell," she interjected.

"Bell, then," Frodo said, blushing.  "I didn't.  I pulled him out of the river, but…if we hadn't been found…" he bit his lip, tears welling from his soulful eyes.  "I failed," he said miserably.  "I failed him.  I gave up, in the end; I collapsed, and he…we…" he choked.

"That's ridiculous," Bell said matter-of-factly.  Frodo looked up at her, surprised.  "Frodo-lad, you were suffering from the cold as much as our Sam was, and what's more, you had to use most of your strength to drag both him and yourself out of the river.  That you managed to not only do that, but carry the lad to the bridge…well, you're a hero, Frodo."  She smiled at him, waiting for his reaction.

Frodo had blushed with an awkward sort of delight during Bell's speech, but now his cheeks were flushed with a different sort of emotion: shame.  "I'm not," he whispered.  "I'm a fool."

"Enough of that," Bell said sternly.  "I won't be hearing it, not about the lad who saved my son's life."

"Bell, how can you even speak to me?" Frodo cried suddenly, sitting up and staring her in the face, tears running down his flushed cheeks.  "How can you bear to?  Sam…Sam could have died because of *me*!  And he still might…might be…" he broke off, sobbing.

Bell's expression softened with pity, and she moved forward to wrap the young lad in her embrace.  Frodo stiffened, then relented, melting against her and burying his face against her shoulder as she rocked him.

"There, now," she cooed.  "It's all right, Frodo.  It's all right."

Frodo sobbed for several more minutes, allowing himself the rare comfort of being folded into a mother's embrace—something he'd not enjoyed since his own mother had passed on all those years ago.  His aunts, though motherly enough with their own broods, were mostly too busy for him, and he'd always tried not to get in their way, anyway; he'd tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible in Brandy Hall, so they wouldn't regret taking him in.   But oh, how he'd missed this…this comfort, this care…

…this *love*.

When his sobs had subsided into hiccups and finally ceased all together, he pulled away, wiping furiously at his face.  Bell smiled gently down at him, reaching out and offering him a handkerchief produced magically from the folds of her gown.  Frodo took it awkwardly, blowing his nose and dabbing at his tears before handing it back.  Embarrassed at his display, he mumbled, "I'm sorry."  

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Frodo-dear," came the soft reply.  When Frodo dared to meet her gaze again, he was surprised to see the affection that gleamed in her eyes.  "You best be getting some more rest, then," she said after a moment, leaning forward to ease Frodo back into the blankets.  Sam curled back around him instantly, and Frodo released a shaky sigh before wrapping his arms around the young lad once more.  Bell leaned forward, and much to Frodo's surprise, planted a gentle kiss at his temple.  He looked up at her, a question in his eyes; he had always before thought that, like Sam, she wasn't really that fond of him.  But she merely smiled and shook her head.  "Later," she said quietly, stroking the hair from Frodo's forehead.  "We'll all talk later, once Sam's awoken and everyone's feeling a sight better.  Until then, you just rest, all right?"

Frodo nodded slowly, and offered a hesitant smile.  "Th…thank you, Bell," he whispered.  

Her smile broadened.  "You're quite welcome, Master Frodo," she replied.  "Now shut your eyes."

He complied, though fresh tears stung the backs of his eyelids when Bell's gentle voice began to hum a lullaby.  This time, though, they were tears of gratitude.  He sighed and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the bed, holding Sam tightly to his chest, and under Bell's voice and her resumed caresses in his hair, he was asleep within minutes.

*          *          *  


	18. Awakenings

A/n:  I feel I owe those of you still reading an apology.  I've had writer's block (not just on this, but on everything) for quite some time now, and while I still know where this story is headed, making the words come out has been far more difficult than it should be.  I would like to thank Sangwa, Laura, Angela and all you others who've been so supportive of me with this.  You guys are the only reason I didn't drop this months ago, and it's for you guys I'm going to keep working at this abominable block and finish this.  I've devoted too much to it to leave it now.  I can't make any promises about how quickly I'll be able to do so, but I do promise this WILL be completed.

*          *            *

When Frodo awoke this time, it was to the sound of moaning.

He jerked a little, startled into wakefulness, and looked around groggily.  He was alone in the room, and judging by the moonlight coming in through the window, it was still the dead of night.  He felt a small stirring against him and looked down at the bundle he held in his arms.  His eyes widened as Sam moaned again, his brow creasing and a small brown hand pressed against his temple.  Frodo watched, breathless with hope, and ventured, "Sam?" in a tremulous whisper.

"Mmmmnnn," Sam replied, pressing harder at his temple. 

"Sam," Frodo tried again, his voice a little steadier.  "Sam, can you hear me?  Open your eyes, Sam."

Sam knew nothing but confusion and a relentless ache in his head.  He winced, massaging his temple, wishing he could make it stop, wondering where he was and why his head hurt in the first place.  

Suddenly, he remembered the water.  Freezing cold, cold as ice, closing in on him, suffocating him…he thrashed, on the verge of panic, thinking himself still under the horrid swollen river.  

Frodo tightened his embrace, holding Sam still to keep him from harming himself, and whispered soft words of comfort in the child's ear.  "Shh, Sam, it's all right now," he murmured, rocking the child slightly.  "You're all right, you'll be all right…relax, Sam, you're safe…"

Frodo's voice finally got through to the younger hobbit, and he managed to open his eyes a crack.  "Mr. Frodo?" he whispered, incredulous.

Frodo felt tears of relief well up in his eyes.  "Yes, Sam," he whispered.  "It's me.  Oh, Sam…" he pulled the child close to him, stroking his hair gently and continuing to rock him.  Sam, still confused but grateful for the warmth and comfort he found in Frodo's embrace, wrapped his small arms around Frodo's shoulders. 

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice croaky and his throat sore from the amount of river water he'd swallowed.  

"Damon Proudfoot's," Frodo replied.  "The healer."

Sam tried to wrap his brain around that bit of information, but found it throbbing too painfully.  "Head hurts," he muttered, closing his eyes and burrowing against Frodo's neck as though he might make the ceaseless pounding stop.  

"Mine did too, when I first woke up," Frodo said.  "It goes away."

"Mmm," Sam replied, eyelids drooping as he slipped back into sleep.  Frodo held the child more snugly against him, feeling tears of gratitude well up in his eyes.  Sam had woken up!

Alerted by the voices, Lilly—who had been putting clean linens in a closet just down the hall—hurried into the room.  Her eyes fell on the bed, where the two lads were still curled much as she'd last seen them.  She frowned, wondering if she hadn't imagined the noises, but suddenly Frodo looked up, meeting her questioning gaze. 

"Sam woke up," he said, a huge, relieved grin on his tear-streaked face.  "He woke up, and he spoke to me." 

Lilly's eyes widened.  "You sure, lad?" she said, her deep accent growing thicker in her excitement.  Frodo nodded, and Lilly clapped her hands together.  "I'll fetch Damon!" she breathed, and dashed from the room.

Damon was just coming out of the kitchen, mug of tea clutched between his calloused hands, and Lilly nearly bowled into him in her haste.  

"Whoa, then, lass!" he cried, holding the mug a safe distance from his shirt lest the hot liquid slosh onto him.  "What's all this?"

She grinned at him.  "Frodo says little Sam's woken up, sir!"

He raised his eyebrows and followed Lilly as she hurried back down the corridor.  They paused outside the door, hearing a soft voice from within, singing gently.

_"Don't worry, little hobbit_

_You're safe in my arms_

_Don't cry, little hobbit_

_I'll keep you from harms._

Damon tilted his head a little, pushing open the door so he could see the interior of the room.  Frodo was still curled around Sam, propped on one elbow while his other hand gently stroked over Sam's hair.  As Damon waited, holding his breath, he heard Frodo continue his soft lullaby:__

_Don't be sad, little hobbit_

_When the sun doesn't shine_

_Just keep me in your heart_

_And you'll be here in mine."_

"Frodo?" Damon said quietly when it seemed certain the lad wasn't going to sing anymore.  Frodo jerked, and looked over his shoulder at the healer with an embarrassed expression on his face.

"My mum used to sing that to me," he whispered, lowering his eyes.  "It always made me feel better."

Damon smiled, moving into the room.  Lilly trailed close behind him.  "I'm sure it's a comfort to Sam as well," he said gently.  He looked over at Sam.  The child looked much the same as the healer had last seen him, but now at least there was some color in his cheeks.  He reached out, frowning a little, and touched the child's forehead, but there was only the heat of health; no additional fever radiated from the skin.  His smile broadened, and he looked at Frodo, who'd been watching his face anxiously.  

"Will he be all right?" Frodo whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer but needing to know.

Damon placed a comforting hand on the lad's shoulder.  "Aye, he should be," he replied.  "There's no fever, which is a good sign, and the fact that he woke up comforts me greatly."

"He said his head hurt," Frodo said. 

Damon nodded.  "Another good sign; he was coherent, and spoke.  I was worried…but it does seem our lad is bound for a complete recovery."  He turned to Lilly.  "Go and fetch some more of that tea, and I'll wake him long enough to swallow a bit.  It'll help his headache, and he should sleep more soundly."

Lilly nodded, and with a swirl of skirts left the room. 

"Mr. Proudfoot?" came a hesitant voice from behind him.

Damon turned, a faintly chastising smile on his lips.  "I said to call me Damon, didn't I?"

Frodo blushed.  "Damon, then," he said softly.  "Should we wake Sam's parents?"

Damon nodded.  "I'll see to them," he said.  "They can be present when we wake Sam for his tea."  

Frodo nodded, returning his full attention to the young hobbit sleeping in his arms.  

Damon turned and headed out to the parlor, where the Gamgees were resting fitfully in front of the hearth.  

"Hamfast," Damon said, reaching out to shake the hobbit's shoulder gently.  "Hamfast, wake up."

Ham stirred, blinking blearily, then snapping to full attention when he saw the healer's face looming over him.  "What is it?" he asked, sitting up (and in the process waking Bell, who sat up and shook her head to rid it of sleep).  "Is anything…?"  

Damon read the fear on the hobbit's face immediately, and shook his head quickly, a comforting smile on his face.  "Nay, lad," he said.  "Your son woke up."

Bell and Hamfast gasped simultaneously.  "Is he…all right?"  Bell asked, sounding breathless.  "I mean is he…does he…?"

"I wasn't there when he awoke, but according to Frodo he spoke coherently.  Complained of a headache, in fact." 

Bell and Hamfast looked at each other for a moment, then sprang to their feet in unison.   The trio hurried down the hallway and into the small, cozy room.  Lilly was setting a tray of tea on the bedside table, and Frodo had raised himself to a sitting position with Sam propped against his side.

"Wake him, lad," Damon said, moving forward and taking the tea Lilly had poured.  "Wake him, and support him, and I'll give him this."

Frodo nodded, then turned to the child in his arms.  "Sam?" he said softly.  "Sam, wake up."

Bell forgot to breathe as she watched, her eyes wide and her mouth half open.  There was a pause, then Sam moaned.  She released the breath she'd been holding, tears welling in her eyes.  She was certain she had never heard a sweeter sound. 

"That's it, Sam," Frodo said, and there were tears in his own eyes despite his radiant smile.  "Wake up now, I've got something for your head."

"Frodo?" Sam murmured sleepily.

Bell choked on what was half a laugh, half a sob, and leaned into her husband's side.  His arm snaked around her and he held her tightly, as they all watched the child stir and gape at them blearily.  

"Yes, Sam, it's me," Frodo said, taking the tea out of Damon's hand.  Damon raised his eyebrows, but sat back to watch; in his experience, getting children to drink the rather bitter-tasting concoction took more persuasion than someone still as sick as Frodo could offer, but he resolved to wait and see.  Thus far, this pair had been full of surprises.

"Drink this, Sam," Frodo said, raising the cup to Sam's lips.  "It will help your head."

Sam took a hesitant sip, then turned away, a foul expression on his face.  "Tastes bad."

Frodo nodded.  "I know," he said.  "I had to drink some too."

Sam glanced up at him.  "Does it work?"

Frodo nodded again, smiling.  "I wouldn't want you to drink something so foul if it couldn't do you some good," he said.  

Sam looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward so Frodo could tip the tea into his mouth again.  While the room watched, Sam downed the cup, then leaned back.  "Tired," he murmured, already mostly asleep again. 

Frodo nodded.  "Sleep, then," he whispered, kissing Sam's unruly blond curls.  Sam glanced up at him, confusion etched onto his face for an instant, but it was overcome by the exhaustion and in moments, he'd drifted back into slumber.

Bell covered her face with her hands and leaned against her husband, tears streaming down her cheeks.  Ham turned to embrace her fully, resting his head on her curls and closing his eyes against his own tears of gratitude.  

"He'll be all right, then," he said, looking toward Damon.

Damon caught the half-question in his voice, and nodded, his eyes shining.  "Aye, I believe he will," he whispered.  

Frodo closed his eyes, tears leaking down his own cheeks.  "Thank you," he whispered, though none could tell whom he was talking to.  He settled back down, still hugging Sam tightly, and drifted into sleep himself.  

"We should go tell Master Bilbo," Hamfast said after a moment.  "He'll be glad to know Sam'll be all right."

Bell nodded, and Damon said, "That's true," but none of them made any move to leave the room.  Instead, they stood gazing at the young hobbits for several long moments, hearts filled with joy, and—at last—with hope.

*          *            *


	19. Revelations

A/n: Thanks for the reviews.  In response to a couple of things: 

The lullaby was something of a collaborative effort.  I had the base, sorta, but couldn't come up with a couple lines; consulted with a few friends and we managed to come up with that.  I argued with Frodo for about twenty minutes—he was adamant about singing, even though I told him humming would work.  He said humming wasn't sweet enough.  *glowers at Frodo*

A note on the age difference: I believe I had an author's note up about this at one point, but I think I took it down—there are inaccuracies in the text itself as to the exact age difference between Frodo and Sam.  The text itself has them at being around 11/12 years apart, but the Appendix Timeline (where I took my resources) has them at fifteen.  For the sake of keeping the story as is consistent, I'm leaving it at fifteen; feel free, though, to ignore those extra few years and call Frodo seventeen or eighteen (or whatever you prefer).  : )  

*          *          *

The early morning sunshine sparkled through the curtains, landing across the bed and, unfortunately, right in Sam's face.  He squinted, blinking rapidly a couple of times, then tried to roll over against the intrusion of light.

Only to find himself tightly pinned.  His eyes flew open, no longer caring about the sun, and he gasped at the sight before him.  Frodo was lying beside him, half of his pale face lit, the other half lying in a pillow.  None of this was extraordinary, Sam supposed, but what *was* rather odd was the fact that Frodo had both arms wrapped tightly around Sam.

Sam blinked at the older hobbit a couple of times, and tried to remember where he was, and why on earth Frodo would be holding him.  

He made an involuntary noise of confusion, and the face beside him stirred, eyebrows drawing together briefly before the long lashes fluttered against pale cheeks and lifted to reveal stunning blue.

When Frodo saw Sam was awake, his eyes widened further, and a sleepy smile crept onto his features.  "Sam," he said, his voice sounding odd—like a mixture of happiness and sadness, almost.  Sam tilted his head. 

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo," he said hesitantly, and after a long pause.  Then, unable to voice his confusion any more indirectly, he blurted, "Um…sir, why are you hugging me?"

Frodo seemed to flinch at that, and immediately the arms about Sam's waist were gone, and Frodo's eyes no longer met Sam's.  Sam felt a strange sense of loss somewhere deep within his chest, as well as the physical loss of warmth, and for a long, perplexing moment he was certain he was going to cry.  The moment passed, though, and he got a hold of himself again.  

"I'm sorry," Frodo murmured, and Sam was amazed to see the older hobbit blushing.  Sam looked away politely, trying not to stare.  There was a long moment of awkward silence, then Sam said, "Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"What are w—well, where are we, sir?"

Frodo looked up at him, a slight frown on his face.  "You don't remember, Sam?"

Sam shook his head and bit his lip, looking at Frodo anxiously.  "Should I, sir?"

Frodo considered.  "Well, probably not," he said after a moment.  "You only woke twice last night, and for no more than a few seconds.  Sam…what DO you remember?"

Sam frowned.  "I remember…I remember looking for you.  Master Bilbo was telling my Da you were lost, and I…" he broke off suddenly and looked away.  He remembered also Bilbo saying Frodo had refused to take Sam with him on his venture; he decided against bringing that up.  He'd told Frodo he understood; they couldn't be friends, the differences were too great, but it still hurt.  He looked away so Frodo wouldn't see the way Sam's eyes betrayed him by misting slightly, or the way his lip was trying desperately to tremble where it was clasped between Sam's teeth.  Careful to keep his voice steady, the young hobbit continued:

"I remember the storm, sir, and the branch…I remember…"  he frowned suddenly, and all thoughts of pain forgotten he turned to stare at Frodo.  "I fell into the river, didn't I, Frodo?"  In his confusion he forgot to add the 'Mr.'

Frodo nodded, swallowing.  "Yes, Sam," he replied in a whisper. 

Sam's frown deepened.  "But…how did I get out?"

Frodo shifted uncomfortably.  "I…well, I swam in after you.  I managed to get a hold of you and drag us onto the shore."

Sam was gaping, and Frodo felt the heat rising in his cheeks once again.  

"You…you saved me, sir?" Sam whispered, and this time he didn't bother to try to hide the tears welling from his eyes. 

Frodo looked up at the child, meeting the gaze steadily (though his own eyes were starting to cloud), and nodded.  "Yes, Sam," he whispered.  "But…it was a near thing.  I should have…" he broke off and looked down.  "Sam, don't look at me like that.  I'm no hero; you wouldn't have even been out there if it weren't for me.  As it was, you nearly didn't make it.  It's my fault, don't you see that?"

Sam, who had recovered himself somewhat, shook his head fervently.  "Nay, sir, I went looking for you.  I could've just gone back home, but I…" he broke off.

Frodo looked up at him, tears marring his cheeks.  "Why didn't you, Sam?" he whispered.  "Why did you come after me?  I thought you didn't…" he hesitated, and Sam looked at him with a question in his eyes.  Frodo drew a shaky breath, then said, "I thought you didn't like me."

Sam's eyes widened in such a way that Frodo knew his belief was false, even before Sam spoke.  "Oh, sir, no!  Of course I like you, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo believed him, but he was more confused than ever.  "I don't understand, Sam," he said.  "If you like me…why didn't…why…?"

"Why what, sir?" Sam replied, equally confused and guarding the small flame of hope deep within his heart cautiously.  

"Why didn't you want to be friends?" Frodo finally blurted.  "I thought you said your Gaffer told you about the Boffins, but…"

"Gaffer told me 'bout class, sir," Sam said quietly.  "Said you were going with lads more suited for your company, and that I shouldn't be expecting us to be friends."  Sam looked down, fingering the bed sheet absently with one finger.  "Said it weren't proper, you being the master's heir and all."  He bit his lip again, the memory of the pain that conversation caused still very fresh.  

Frodo stared.  Everything was suddenly clear; Sam's distance toward him, his mother's hostility…it had all stemmed from this one misunderstanding.  Frodo closed his eyes and shook his head, amazed at the pain and suffering such a stupid turn of events could have caused. 

Sam noticed his gesture, and thought Frodo was agreeing with his last statement.  He shuddered, and the little flicker of hope died.  Sam swallowed hard, feeling the numbness creeping back into his heart.  But…

"Sir…if it ain't proper an' all…well, sir, why risk yourself trying to save me?  I'm just your servant."  Sam looked at Frodo's face, his own a carefully blank mask, his eyes dull.

Frodo's eyes snapped open, and he propped himself up on one elbow.  "Sam," he said, his voice firm and very serious.  "I never thought it improper to be friends with you.  I don't know what Bilbo told your Gaffer that made him think…Sam, listen carefully.  Bilbo arranged my meeting with the Boffins.  I didn't want to go, because I'd promised you I'd come see your flowers.  But Bilbo said Griffo was bringing the lads in the morning, and it would be rude not to go with them.  He also said he'd have your Gaffer explain that to you, and tell you I'd be by later to see your flowers, as you only live down the row from us."  He frowned, his eyes boring into Sam's, which had lost their dull sheen and were now wide with wonder and hope.  "Do you understand, Sam?" Frodo said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from the younger hobbit's forehead.  "I never wanted you to think we couldn't be friends.  Never."

Sam had tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care anymore.  "You…want to be friends with me?  Even though I'm just…even though…"

"You're not 'just' anything, Sam—don't ever let yourself believe that.  You're something special."  Frodo smiled, and brushed absently at his own tears.  "You risked your own life to try and find me, even though you thought…you thought I didn't want to be friends."  He laughed a little, still amazed that all this had been one huge mistake.  "I thought you didn't like ME," he said again, looking at the young hobbit, and a flash of uncertainty filled his eyes.  "Not many do.  I'm…different."

"You're wonderful," Sam whispered, reaching out a small hand to Frodo's cheek and wiping at the tears lingering there.  "You're smart, and nice, and funny…and…" he gave up and burrowed back into Frodo's arms.  "I'd be proud to be your friend, sir," he whispered.  

Frodo smiled, clasping the young hobbit tight to him and planting a kiss amidst the unruly blond curls.  "And I'd be proud to be yours, Sam."

Sam looked up and met Frodo's eyes.  "Forever, then, sir?"

Frodo grinned, and stuck out his hand, which Sam shook.  "Forever, Sam."

Sam smiled back and leaned back into Frodo's arms.  For several long moments, they didn't say anything; then, as the sun crept higher into the morning sky, Sam looked up at Frodo and frowned.  

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, Sam?"

Sam looked a little lost.  "I still don't know where we are, sir."

Frodo's laugh rang through the smial, and when the others rushed into the room to see what was happening, they weren't sure at first if Frodo was laughing or crying.  After a moment, they decided it didn't matter; the grin on Frodo's face was enough to tell them everything was finally all right.

*          *          *


	20. Conclusions

A/n: Obelia, that's true—I have no middle-ground.  I write in spurts.  ^_^

Well, all, this is it—the last installment of this year-long fic.  I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (writer's block and all!).  

*          *            *

Three days later, Damon decreed Frodo and Sam were well enough to go home.  Much to his amazement, neither child had developed a fever—Frodo's headache had returned once, but after they'd treated it again he felt fine—and the two seemed as good as ever, if still a little weak.  

That morning saw everyone very busy.  Damon was having Lilly make up several pouches of medicated tea for Frodo and Sam to take, to ensure they didn't have any further complications from the long exposure to cold and wet.  Hamfast was hitching Sassafras to the cart again, with the help of Rowan, and Frodo and Sam were sipping lemonade on the front porch, bundled in blankets but finally allowed to sit in the sunshine.

"That should be enough, Lilly," Damon said, inspecting the pile of pouches.  "Did you tell Bell how to steep them?"

"Yes, she did," came Bell's voice from behind them.  Damon turned, and smiled as Bell walked into the parlor, wearing her own clothing again (which she had washed, along with her husband's and Bilbo's, during their stay) and clutching a parcel in her arms.  "I'm sure I'll manage it fine."  She smiled, then offered the parcel.  Damon took it, curios, and unwrapped it.  Inside was the green dress he'd loaned Bell, carefully washed and pressed so it shimmered like new.  "Thank you for letting me wear it," she said, and smiled a little shyly.

Damon smiled back, then, on impulse, shoved the parcel back into her hands.  "Keep it," he said gently.  "I have no need of it, now."

Bell paled, eyes wide as she stared at the gown in her hands.  "Sir…are you certain you should…?"

Damon smiled.  "My wife won't be needing it now," he said quietly.  "And I'm certain she'd want someone else to enjoy it.  She always loved that dress.  I'd be doing her memory a disservice if I left it to the moths."

Bell watched the healer for a moment, then nodded once.  "I'll take care of it for her, then," she said, and smiled.  "Thank you, sir."

Damon brushed off her thanks, then moved towards the pouches.  "Now, Lilly, did you find a basket?  We must be getting these bundled up…"

An hour later, everything was ready to go.  Frodo and Sam were settled with Bilbo on the cart, and Bell was seated on the bench.  Rowan resolved to walk alongside (though he'd been invited to ride, he'd politely declined) and then ride Sassafras back to the stables once they'd reached Bag End.  Lilly and Damon were standing on the stoop, watching as the crew prepared to leave, and it was then Hamfast approached, clutching his hat nervously between his fingers.

"Mr. Damon," he said, drawing the healer aside, "I'm afraid…my wife and I, we haven't much in the way of money.  I don't know what all of this calls for, but," he drew himself up proudly, "I'm certain I can work it off, whatever it is."

Damon smiled gently, and placed a hand on Hamfast's shoulder.  "Hamfast, I wouldn't have charged you even if you had all the riches in the shire," he said quietly.  "That's not why I became a healer.  And besides," he glanced back at his smial, which was of a generous size and in good keeping, "I'm not wanting for anything myself.  You take good care of that lad, sir, and that's all the payment I want from you."

Hamfast blanched.  "But sir…what of the tea?" he said weakly.  "The medicines…?  Surely those cost…"

"Aye, they do," Damon nodded.  "But not to worry; Mr. Bilbo has offered to cover the cost of those."

Hamfast paled, but forced a smile onto his face for Damon's sake.  "Well…thankee, sir, I can't say it enough…you saved my Sam's life, you did, and Mr. Frodo's as well.  If there's ever anything you need…"

Damon grinned, and clapped Hamfast on the shoulder.  "I'll take you up on that right now, actually!  Perhaps I could get a bag of those famous potatoes of yours come next harvest?  Mine never seem to grow very large, and they're all a bit bitter, so it seems."

Hamfast grinned back, and this time it was genuine.  "Done, sir," he said, shaking the healer's hand.  "And as soon as he's a bit older, I'll send my Sam out himself to teach you to grow them proper.  Sounds to me like you've just not gotten the right fertilizer for your soil.  Takes a good—"

"Hamfast?  Shouldn't we be going?" Bell had appeared at his side, and Ham turned to find the rest of them watching him expectantly.  He nodded, blushing a little, and replaced his hat.  "Aye, then.  Damon, Lilly, my thanks again."  They nodded, both grinning, and watched as the two made their way to the cart and climbed aboard.  They waved, and Hamfast took the reins and shook them a bit, setting the cart to rolling.  Soon, they'd rounded the bend in the road and were out of sight.  

Lilly glanced up at Damon, one eyebrow raised dubiously.  "Potatoes, sir?"

Damon smirked.  "Lass, have you ever had any of Hamfast Gamgee's potatoes?"

Lilly shook her head, and Damon laughed.  "You'll understand why I asked for them, come harvest," he said, grinning.  "In the meantime, let's see about getting some things in order.  I've got Daisy Took to see to today—baby's due in a few weeks, you know…"

They turned and disappeared into the smial, leaving only the singing of the birds to fill the silence of the sunny lane.

*          *            *

The ride home passed peacefully for Frodo and Sam.  Content in the warmth of their newfound companionship, they sat close together in the small cart, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air.  

At one point they passed Griffo Boffin in his own cart, his sons riding along in the back—the elder hobbit had nodded respectfully at Bilbo and smiled a bit apologetically at Frodo, and the lads in the back had glared.  Frodo had smirked back and placed an arm over Sam's shoulder, which made them scowl harder; however, they dared not say anything, for the memory of the beating they'd received from their parents last time they tangled with Frodo was still too fresh on their minds.  The looks they threw Frodo promised him he'd made himself an enemy, but Frodo found himself grinning just the same, too elated to care.  Sam looked up at him, curious about the exchange, but Frodo just shook his head.

They arrived at Bag End shortly thereafter.  Bilbo helped Frodo down from the cart, then reached up and lifted Sam out after him.  The cart was driven down to #3 Bagshot row and unhitched in short order.  Rowan bowed graciously and turned to go, but Bilbo called out to him. 

"Yes, Mr. Bilbo?" the lad said, approaching quickly and bowing his head respectfully.

"I've got something for you," Bilbo said, leading the lad into his study and looking through the shelves.  He muttered to himself for a moment, then said "Ah!" and pulled a leather-bound book with gold-trimmed pages from the shelf.  Wiping the dust from it, he turned.  "I got this a few years back, from a friend of mine who passes through now and again.  It's a book of healing remedies from a place called Minis Tirith.  You can read Common tongue?"

Rowan nodded, eyes wide as he took the book and glanced through it.  Bilbo smiled.  "Good!  Show it to Damon, too, if you wish—I've tried some of the recipes myself, and find they work quite well.  I'm certain you'll be able to put it to good use."

"Sir, I can't accept this," Rowan whispered, staring up at Bilbo with something akin to reverence.  

"Sure you can, lad," Bilbo replied.  "I've memorized my favorites anyway, and besides," he reached out and laid a hand on the lad's shoulder.  "I'm certain it will be of help to a great many more people in the hands of a healer, rather than collecting dust on an old hobbit's shelf."

Rowan blushed, and whispered, "Thank you, sir."  

Bilbo nodded, and smiled.  "Now, let's get you set, shall we?"

Rowan left a quarter of an hour later, book clutched under his arm and a parcel of sweet cakes from the Gamgees clutched in his hands.  The Gamgee children—who'd been looked after by their older brothers while their parents were away—rushed out of the smial to greet their smallest brother.  

"Sam, I mithed you!" Marigold lisped, staring up at her brother wide-eyed from where she'd glued herself to his waist.  "I losthed a tooth, thee?"

Sam grinned, and hugged his sister tightly.  "So you did, Mari!" he said, smiling down at her.  

Frodo watched, a small smile on his face, though his wasn't without sadness; he'd never had any siblings, and, quite suddenly, he found himself missing his cousins in Brandyhall quite terribly.

Sam, who already displayed an uncanny ability to sense Frodo's moods, suddenly turned to his new friend.  "Mari," he said, "this is Master Frodo.  Remember when you met him a few weeks ago?"  Sam grinned.  "He's my new friend, Mari."

Mari stared up at Frodo, as though she were being shown the most amazing thing in Middle Earth, then turned to Sam.  "Can he be my friend too, Sam?" she whispered loudly.  Frodo shifted uncomfortably, grinning despite himself.  Sam grinned at him.  "I imagine so, lass, if you ask him real polite-like."

While the others watched with amusement, Mari approached Frodo carefully, then said, "Misther Frodo, sir?  C'n I be your friend, too, like Sam is?"

Frodo grinned, unexpectedly touched, and knelt down before the child.  "Of course, Marigold," he said seriously.  "I'd be honored."

Marigold grinned and launched herself at him, wrapping tiny arms about his waist and catching him off-guard enough that he toppled over backwards, laughing like a lark.  

Bilbo, standing a ways off, was watching with amusement when he felt a tap on his arm.  Turning, he saw Hamfast standing behind him, hat once again clutched in his hands in the tell-tale manner that told Bilbo he was uncomfortable about something.

"Sir," he said quietly, so the children wouldn't overhear, "Damon told me…about you paying for the lads' medicine, and I…sir, I can't accept that, not without doing naught in return, t'wouldn't be right…"

"Oh, Hamfast," Bilbo sighed, looking amused.  "Your Sam found my Frodo.  You don't owe me anything."

Hamfast bit his lip.  "But your Frodo saved our Sam," he returned.  "Sir, I can't just…I wouldn't feel right about it, if you follow me."  He considered for a moment, then straightened and said, "Sir, I'd feel better about it if you took it out of my pay."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, and looked over at the brood of Gamgee children surrounding his adopted nephew.  "Hamfast, look," he said gently, indicating Frodo (who was still on the ground, laughing helplessly, as Marigold and Sam had taken to tickling his ribs).  "Look at Frodo.  He's *happy*, Hamfast."  Bilbo watched a moment longer, then turned back to his gardener.  "He's not been that happy in years.  If you insist on payment…" Bilbo waved his arm, indicating the joyous scene before them, "this is more than enough."

Hamfast looked at his master for a moment, touched by his words, then bit his lip.  "I don't know, sir…" he said.

Bilbo laughed.  "All right, then," he said.  Turning towards the children, he called, "Sam!  Samwise Gamgee!  A moment, if you please."

Sam disentangled himself from the knot created by Frodo and his siblings and approached, fairly breathless with laughter.  "Yes, sir?"

Bilbo looked stern.  "Sam," he said seriously, "it seems your father is wondering how to pay for the medicines you've acquired the necessity for." 

Sam's smile vanished, as he looked from his father (who was staring at Bilbo in equal confusion) to Bilbo.  "Yes, sir…?" he asked, his voice more hesitant this time.

"Well, Sam," he said, "I think the best way for him to pay it off is to have you come back to work up here, at Bag End.  You can work off your debt to me in my gardens."

Sam's eyes widened, and an enormous grin lit his face.  "Yes, sir!" he cried, then on impulse threw his arms around Bilbo for an instant before racing back to the throng of laughing children.  

Hamfast looked at Bilbo, who was grinning in a self-satisfied manner.  "Satisfied, Ham?" he said, giving his gardener a sidelong look.

Hamfast stared a moment longer, then finally gave in and broke into laughter of his own.  "Oh, aye, sir, I suppose that'll do," he said wearily, shaking his head and grinning.  

Bilbo laughed, then said, "Frodo!  Come on, lad, we must get you inside and have some elevenses!"

Frodo emerged a moment later, clothing hanging rather askew and bits of grass in his curls.  He was grinning from ear to ear, and his eyes fairly shone with happiness.  

"Listen, Hamfast," Bilbo said, turning to his gardener again.  "Why don't you and your family meet us in the party field in twenty minutes?  Frodo and I will see to making some food, and you and your wife can see to desert.  It's a lovely day; no reason to be eating in a dark old smial, is there?"

Hamfast grinned.  "Aye, sir, I suppose there isn't," he said, replacing his hat and turning to his children.  "Come on, then, all of ye!" he hollered.  "We've got to see about making some desert.  Daisy, you and your sisters go find some blankets."

"Are we going picnicking, Da?" May asked, eyes wide.  Hamfast nodded.  "Aye, with Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo," he said.  He smiled, then raised his hands to silence the cheers of the young children.  "Come on, then!  Mr. Bilbo's put us in charge of desert, and we mustn't be letting him down!"

Bilbo and Frodo watched with amused affection as the Gamgees bustled into their smial, smallest children bouncing excitedly.  Sam was the last to enter; just before he did so, he turned and offered a shy wave to Frodo, who waved back.  Sam's face broke into a grin, and he disappeared into the hole after his family.

"They're special people, Frodo," Bilbo said quietly.  "You couldn't ask for better, in my opinion."

"No, you couldn't," Frodo replied, his eyes softening and a smile creeping unawares onto his face.

They stood there a moment longer, then Bilbo said, "They also have large appetites, so we'd best be seeing to that food!"  Frodo laughed, then followed his uncle into their own home. 

Sunlight sparkled in the cool spring air, mingling with the late-morning dew and making it seem as though the grass was incrusted with millions of glittering jewels.  Apart from the sweet chirping of the birds, no sound could be heard--save the faint sounds of laughter coming from Bag End and Number 3 Bagshot row.  

*          *            *

*finis*

A/n: Well, that's it; hope you've all enjoyed it!  I have another story in the works (which may or may not be smart of me, given how long this one took me to complete) that will be a follow-up of this one, and will take place through the years as Sam and Frodo grow up.  It will be centered around their friendship, and the bonds of loyalty that form between them.  .  I'm not certain when the first installment will be up, or even what it will be called (suggestions…?) but I hope those of you who enjoyed this will enjoy it as well.  

Thank you all again!  


End file.
